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OUIRDA 

OR 


AMERICAN GOLD REGILDING THE CORONETS 
OF EUROPE 



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Gaston had ran him completely 
through the body. 


Page 261, 



OUIRDA 

OR 

AMERICAN GOLD 
REGILDING THE 
CORONETS OF 
EUROPE 


BY THE 

COUNTESS LOVEAU DE CHAVANNE 

i " 

IF j > 

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> , j 

With illustrations by 
Ivan Peronet Thompson 

¥ 

DREXEL BIDDLE, PUBLISHER 

NEW YORK PHILADELPHIA LONDON 

SAN FRANCISCO TORONTO 


1900 


7141H 


l.ibra.ry of Congress 

Copit^ Received 

NOV 6 1900 

Copyright entry 

No. 



StCOND COPY. 

Delivered to 

ORDER DIVISION, 

Ln OV 31 19 00- 




Copyright, 1900 
By a. J. DRRXKI. BIDDLR 


All rights reserved 


\ 



PRINTED BY 

DRRXRIv BIDDRE 


PHILADELPHIA 


LONDON 


i 


> 


THIS TRUE STORY OF AN AMERICAN GIRL’S EXPERIENCES IN 
FRENCH SOCIETY I INSCRIBE TO 


Ube l^oung XHHomen ot amertca 

IT IS A LOVE-SONG WITH A MORAL THAT CANNOT BE 
MISUNDERSTOOD 


COUNTESS DE CHAVANNE 


V 




AVANT-PROPOS 


This story tells of modern life in Paris. A few scenes 
from the actual life of one of our American girls who 
married a French nobleman. 

To write a romance of intrigue or adventure, one need 
not toil or work out a thrilling plot of possible and impos- 
sible circumstances or conditions. It is only necessary 
to observe closely and patiently men and women in all 
phases of life as they are, and truthfully record the 
results. 

As the world goes, and as we follow our varied lives, 
much that is bewildering and fascinating — though some- 
times shocking and dreadful — and wildly inconsistent, yet 
alluring, occurs. 

I have taken the greater part of the incidents in this 
story from life in the highest walks of Parisian society. 
If any of my readers are disposed to doubt the possi- 
bility of the social conditions herein described, they 
need only to inquire in the right direction to ascertain 
their truthfulness. 

The foreign gentlemen who possess unquestionable 
titles know their commercial value, and they look for 
and expect wealth with American wives in exchange for 
their high-sounding names. Naturally, they would pre- 
fer wives from among their own people and of their own 
nationality, but their unfortunate financial condition 
vii 


Hvant-f>ropo0 

will not admit of their enjoying the luxury of such a 
choice. They must marry for money, and it is a noto- 
rious fact, that these so-called aristocrats are apathetic 
on the subject of honor when scheming to arrange a 
marriage with an American heiress. 

The custom of centuries permits and sanctions the 
Continental husband to live a dual life if he so elects — 
of having two homes and two or more families. He can 
live as dissolute a life as he pleases ; can associate with 
questionable people of both sexes ; can have his name 
coupled with notorious female characters ; and unless he 
adds personal cruelty to his other transgressions, his wife 
must patiently submit to his total disregard of what are 
her just rights. 

Think what you choose, I am resolved that you shall 
know the beau-monde as I found it and as it is. In 
what I have written the most pleasing phases are not 
enhanced, the worst situations are not overdrawn. 

It is actual French life. It is the truth. 

Countess Loveau de Chavanne 

Philadelphia, June, 1900. 


vlii 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

I. 

Good-by to the Convent School . 



PAGE 

13 

II. 

The Chateau de Verville 



23 

III. 

The House Party .... 



37 

IV. 

The Grand Ball .... 



54 

V. 

The Faubourg Saint Germain 



67 

VI. 

Regilding a Coronet 



79 

VII. 

The Magnolias at Royallieu 



92 

VIII. 

In Paradise 



103 

IX. 

The Jockey Club .... 



113 

X. 

Enchantment 



127 

XL 

The Wedding, the Journey, and the 
Coming 

Home- 

136 

XII. 

Breakfast at the Caf^ de la Paix 



147 

XIII. 

The Count and Countess at Home 



162 

XIV. 

La Princesse de Salande chez Elle 



172 

XV. 

DfesILLUSIONNiLE .... 



190 

XVI. 

L’ Amour — French and Russian 



202 

XVIL 

At the Grand Opera 



217 

XVIII. 

Kidnapped in the Avenue du Bois 

Boulogne 

DE 

234 


ix 


Content© 


CHAPTER 

XIX. 

The Duel 

PAGE 

. 247 

XX. 

The Day After .... 

. . 265 

XXI. 

L’Amitie Fin de SifecLE . 

. 279 

XXII. 

Le Commencement de la Fin 

. 289 

XXIII. 

The Wages of Sin . ‘ . 

. 301 

XXIV. 

RfevfeLATIONS 

. 308 

XXV. 

The Dark Pool of the Future . 

. . 318 


X 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING 

PAGE 

Gaston had run him completely through the body^ Frontispiece 
^*^Ouirda^ dear Ouirda, I love you . . . .104 

Filling her glass often with that sparkling^ amber wine . 206 

She does not read her open book— her sad eyes are looking 

out on the sea ........ 326 




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-v. 









CHAPTER I. 


GOOD-BY TO THE CONVENT SCHOOL 

“ Comme un flambeau celeste 
La bont6 de Dieu nous reste, 

Elle nous garde et nous suit 
Bonne nuit I Bonne nuit !” 


HE last days at school. 

Since childhood Ouirda 
Winston had been an in- 
mate of one of the best 
educational institutions in 
the world, the young ladies’ 
school at the Convent of the 
Sacred Heart, near Paris. 

Her life there had been uneventful until 
near the close of her school-days. In a 
short time the young ladies of the senior 
class will take their separate ways into the 
great world, with what varying vicissitudes 
this story will tell in part. 

Miss Winston was an orphan. She had 
been placed at this renowned school by her 
13 



®utr&a 


guardian, Doctor Edward Campbell, formerly 
of New York City, but a resident of Paris 
for many years. 

He had been an old friend of Miss Win- 
ston’s father, who, in his will, had requested 
the Doctor to be one of the administrators 
of his large estate and the guardian of his 
orphan daughter. The Doctor had been 
faithful to his trust, and had watched over 
the health, as well as the interests, of the 
orphan heiress with a father’s care. 

The last days at school arrived, and there 
was the usual excitement attendant upon the 
preparations for graduating. The little jeal- 
ousies among the young ladies, of much 
importance at the time, now, as one looks 
back upon them, seem to have been mere 
ripples upon the surface of the sea of life. 

The all-important day came at last. The 
large hall where the exercises were to be 
held was filled at an early hour with an inter- 
ested and expectant audience — the parents, 
guardians, and friends of the graduating 
class. 

The good teacher. Sister Lorenza, who 
was mistress of ceremonies, entered the par- 
14 


to tbe Convent School 

lor. Teachers and pupils took seats reserved 
for them at the rear of the stage, while on 
the grand organ was played an anthem of 
welcome. The first pupil was called, and a 
young lady stepped forward and delivered a 
well-prepared essay on a popular subject. 
Then followed those whose special talent lay 
in music. 

The valedictory, by Miss Winston, was 
the last on the program. Her friend Mad- 
emoiselle de Verville smilingly remarked, 
“They are saving the good wine until the 
last.” 

When her number was reached, Ouirda 
stepped before the audience with more self- 
confidence than one would have thought 
possible for her in such a trying situation. 
She was determined to succeed. She had 
given so much time and thought to her essay. 
She must not fail. Her cheeks glowed with 
the excitement of a first appearance. She 
began her recitation in a soft voice. A 
breathless hush settled upon the audience as 
she commenced speaking. She felt that all 
eyes were fixed upon her, and a calmness 
and self-possession came over her. She for- 
15 


©uirba 


got all save her theme, and gave herself up 
to the art of elocution. The leading thought 
in her essay was that in striving to make 
others happy, and in earnest, self-sacrificing 
work for the good of humanity, a true woman 
found her chief enjoyment. In closing, she 
stated that it was the girl graduate’s duty 
to be useful in all walks of life, and to 
put forth all her energies to elevate her 
surroundings. 

Standing upon the threshold of life, fresh 
from her books, with little knowledge of the 
busy world around her, full of hope and joy- 
ousness, the young girl gazed into the un- 
known future without fear of its perils. To 
her all things were beautiful, and a life of 
happiness, wherein every wish would be 
gratified, every joyous anticipation realized, 
was assured. In sweet content she drifted 
in the smooth current, with no apparent mis- 
sion or motive ; her young heart constantly 
receiving impressions, useful in after life. 
Her theme was old, her thoughts familiar, 
but the story was recited in an earnest man- 
ner that touched a responsive chord in the 
hearts of her hearers, and when she left the 

i6 


to tbe Convent School 

Stage a moment of stillness was followed by 
enthusiastic applause. 

The Mother Superior took Ouirda's hand 
and expressed her warmest congratulations. 

The day closed at last. The young ladies 
received their diplomas, congratulations, and 
bouquets from their parents and friends. 

On this last evening at the convent strict 
discipline was not observed, so after supper 
congenial friends gathered to talk over their 
futures. Ouirda was sitting apart in a mus- 
ing attitude. 

Shall we fathom the depths of that young 
girl’s heart, to see what is passing there? 
Vague and indistinct, but strong emotions of 
the spirit which, if arranged into thought, 
would read thus : 

“ This long, anxiously looked-for day has 
passed successfully, and now I long for some- 
thing more. 

The world I shall soon see. I wonder if 
I shall wish for the stars of Heaven to span- 
gle my dresses, or the rainbow for a scarf? 

I know I wish to vanquish hearts, and from 
among them I suppose I must select one — 
and glowing with the thoughts she arose with 
2 17 


®uiv&a 


a blushing cheek and a sparkling eye, and 
caught her reflections in a mirror. She 
smiled and said half- aloud : 

“I wonder if I am a beauty?” 

A little arm wound itself around her waist, 
a cheek was pressed to hers, and a low voice 
murmured : 

“ Ah ! Ouirda, cherie ; you need not ques- 
tion if you have the gift of beauty, and with 
all other blessings, you have talent, wealth, 
and station. They involve serious responsi- 
bilities.” 

“You absurd, solemn Jeanne,” answered 
Ouirda, gathering the speaker to her heart. 
“Why talk of beauty’s responsibility. To 
be admired you have only to look charming 
and be as agreeable as possible.” 

Jeanne returned the caress, and gently 
extricating herself, said : 

“It is a great power, this beauty.” 

“ Come, girls, come. Let’s build castles,” 
exclaimed a mirthful sprite to her school- 
mates. 

“Allons done, venez, Louise, you begin. 
Tell us, at the corner-stone of your Chateau 
en Espagne upon what sort of a cavalier of 

iS 


(Boob^bl? to tbe Convent School 

high renown you would bestow the honor 
and blessing of your white hand.” 

“I ! Oh, must I tell first? I don’t mind, 
but you girls must be as honest as I am. 
Here is my decision,” began Louise: 

“I will have none of your cavaleros. 
None of your Don, Monsieur, Whiskerandos 
at all. None of your mustached, cigar- 
smoking gentleman, who would spend his 
leisure time in cafes and green-rooms, amus- 
ing himself, while I was moping at home. 
No, I mean to marry a young, gay, and 
good-humored naval officer, who will adore 
me above all things, who will make long 
voyages to distant countries, cover himself 
with glory, and bring me back rich silks, 
shawls, and jewels, beautiful monsters and 
rare curiosities for my bric-a-brac collec- 
tion, and then take himself off again before 
I get tired of him. I want to be loved 
and petted and pleased, Voila ce que je 
veux !” 

This frank outburst was received with joy- 
ous exclamations, and the self-constituted 
questioner continued her examination. 

“And you, Adde?” 

19 


®utr&a 


Adde Latour, a mild, fair, dignified girl of 
reserved manners, turned away without re- 
plying. 

Louise exclaimed, saucily : 

Oh, ril speak for Adde ! She would like 
a tall, dark, handsome man, distinguished in 
one of the learned professions, or filling with 
great honor to himself some high official 
station, a deputy or ambassador, n’est ce pas, 
Adde?" 

Possibly, if moral and intellectual excel- 
lence had raised him to that high station — 
not otherwise ; for I would not be the wife 
of a selfish and corrupt politician, even if his 
intrigue had raised him to be President of 
the Republic of France.” 

‘‘ Hear her, girls. Who would have sus- 
pected the lurking ambition beneath that 
calm exterior. But here is Jeanne. Pll 
wager my coral bracelet that if her choice 
were known it would astonish us all.” 

“Tell us, Jeanne, ch^rie.” 

“ Don’t ask me, for I really don’t know.” 

“ Yes, you do. You are more of a dreamer 
of dreams than any of us. Come. At least 
give us a notion of your beau ideal.” 


20 


to tbe Convent School 

“ Truly, girls, I have none. I must think it 
over,” said Jeanne, blushingly. 

“There is Ouirda,” continued the inter- 
locutor. “We must call our honored vale- 
dictorian up to judgment. Come here, 
Ouirda, and tell us girls what sort of a mon- 
sieur it would amuse you to torment or 
adore ?” 

“Jeanne and I have half-promised our old 
nurse, Babette, that we would never think of 
lovers or marriage, but would maintain our 
independence like herself. She says human 
nature is bad enough at best, but that the 
men are the worst half of it. She honestly 
thinks that women and children save the 
world from general destruction.” 

“Tais-toi, Ouirda, never mind what Bab- 
ette says. Brother Gaston always said she 
was a cross-grained, crabbed old maid. I 
don’t believe that all the men are so sinful. 
Gaston is not, surely.” 

This last exclamation of Jeanne’s found a 
ready echo in the hearts of the other girls, 
who cited their fathers, brothers, and cousins 
as paragons of goodness in refutation. 
Ouirda was not crushed by the unanimous 


21 


©uirba 


sentiment of her school-mates, and said to 
them in a solemn voice : 

“Girls, I believe I am a fatalist. I feel 
that if I should ever love at all, my whole 
soul would be absorbed in the one passion. 
The man who could inspire this sentiment 
must be all that is highest and best. He 
must have an honored name and position, 
together with all the attributes of a noble 
character.’' 

“You are extravagant in your ideas and 
requirements. Miss Winston.” 

“ Perhaps I am.” 

“Anyone would know you were an Ameri- 
can girl, you are so outspoken and indepen- 
dent.” 

“It must have been born in me, for I 
remember so little of America or home.” 

The hour was late, and the young ladies 
separated. Their hearts were fluttering with 
emotions of regret at parting, and pleasurable 
anticipations for their future. 

“ Good-night ” was said for the last time 
at school. 


22 


CHAPTER II. 


THE CHATEAU DE VERVILLE 

** Ah 1 que c* est beau la nature, 

Les pr^s, les bois, la verdure.” 


one of those sweet and 
fair summer mornings 
when the air is laden with 
a subtle, dainty gladness 
that quickens the pulse, 
Ouirda and Jeanne left the 
convent. The former had 
accepted an invitation from 
the Marquise de Verville, the mother of 
her chere amie Jeanne, to pass the coming 
season with them at their chateau in the 
country. 

With conflicting emotions Ouirda left the 
convent school that had been her home so 
long. The Mother Superior and Sisters 
had been very kind to her, and she had 
nearly forgotten that she was an orphan. 

The ride in the grand family carriage was 
23 



©utr&a 


along the River Seine. They traversed shady 
woods and open glades, where wild flowers 
were blooming in that lavish abundance seen 
only in sunny France. To Ouirda this lovely 
drive was intensely enjoyable. For years 
the school-room had bound her wings, like 
an unfledged butterfly ; but now she was a 
young lady — in the world, and free. 

Turning to Jeanne, to call her attention to 
some object of interest that had attracted 
her, she saw that the girl had fallen asleep 
in the corner of the carriage, nestling cosily 
among the cushions. 

Ouirda did not awaken her, and her 
thoughts became her companions. 

They wandered back to her old home in 
America, that home of which so little lin- 
gered in her memory. She was so young 
when she left there, and the studious years 
of school-life had so clouded the dim mem- 
ories of her childhood, that they remained 
with her only as a half-forgotten, pleasant 
dream. 

Her most vivid recollections were of being 
placed under the protection of her guardian 
and a kind woman on the ocean steamer 


24 


Z\)c Chateau be Derville 

bound for Europe. Then followed the long 
years in the convent, where she had lived in 
seclusion and study, with rare glimpses of 
the outside world. She had made many 
friends among her schoolmates, but her 
ch^re amie was Jeanne. 

She recalled the rare occasions on which 
she had been permitted to visit Jeanne’s 
home, a stately mansion in the Faubourg 
Saint Germain. The visits to this aristo- 
cratic house gave her the first impressions 
of French society. 

While Jeanne still sweetly slept, Ouirda 
was lost in meditation. She dwelt especially 
upon the family history of the de Vervilles. 
Besides the mother, the widowed Marquise, 
there was an only son, Gaston, the pride and 
hope of the family. He was at Saint Cyr, 
that most popular of all institutions of learn- 
ing among the nobility of France. Gaston 
was only at home during vacations, which 
were happy days for Jeanne. 

Like many of the old legitimist families, 
their wealth had been diminished by the po- 
litical changes through which France had 
passed. The Marquise was ambitious for 
25 


®utr&a 


her children, and hoped, by advantageous 
marriages, to financially reinstate the family. 

However, while she was a warm advocate 
of the French idea of “les manages de con- 
venances,” she held the happiness of her 
daughter and son closely to her heart, and 
always encouraged them in their preferences 
and affections. Therefore, owing to the 
amiti^ of Jeanne and Ouirda, the Marquise 
had resolved to have the lovely American 
girl make her social debut under her protec- 
tion. She had no difficulty in obtaining the 
consent of Miss Winston’s guardian. Ouirda, 
she knew, was of good family. Beauty, 
wealth, and charming manners were her cre- 
dentials. 

The Marquise had preceded the girls, 
and was now awaiting their coming. The 
last rays of the setting sun were falling over 
the Chateau de Verville as the carriage drew 
near. A golden light lingered on the trees 
and green glades of the park. Arrived, the 
young girls were aroused from their slum- 
bers and meditations, for at the grand en- 
trance stood the Marquise, her face illumined 
with a glad smile. 


26 


Zbc Chateau be IDervHle 

‘‘Welcome, mes cheries !’' she exclaimed, 
embracing Jeanne and Ouirda affectionately. 

We pass over the two weeks that followed 
their arrival at the chateau — weeks of liberty 
and freedom from the strict routine of past 
years at school. Each day brought new 
pleasures. First came the dressmakers with 
costumes for the debutantes, selected by the 
experienced Marquise. Much joy was awak- 
ened by the inspection of these m.arvels of 
the toilette. Exclamations of delight fol- 
lowed as each girl recognized the change 
from the plain garb of the convent girl to that 
of a fashionably attired young woman. A dis- 
tinguished house party from among her social 
friends in Paris had been invited, and a sum- 
mer of more than ordinary pleasures was 
anticipated. The Marquise was proud of 
her lovely daughter and felt a tender interest 
in her protegee, the beautiful American girl. 

Doctor Campbell, Miss Winston’s guard- 
ian, was well pleased to have his ward so 
well protected, and so admirably presented 
to the “beau-monde.” The high position of 
the Marquise insured social prestige. 

A cheerful place was the Chateau de Ver- 

27 


®utr&a 


ville. Stately trees of mighty size and ma- 
jestic breadth were on the lawn that adjoined 
the park, of which it once had formed a part. 
The house stood on a rise of ground, sur- 
rounded by a broad terrace, with a balustrade 
and stone vases, and looking over four gay 
and sunny parterres full of flowers. In the 
centre of each parterre played a bright foun- 
tain, with its waters ever dancing in the sun. 

In the small salon, opening on a balcony 
and having a fine view of the drive-way and 
park, were the three ladies — the anxious 
mother, the eager, impatient daughter, and 
their guest, Miss Winston. They were all 
eagerly awaiting the arrival of Gaston, the 
young Marquis. He had been travelling for 
many months with his most intimate friend, 
the Viscount foienne de Bruil. He had 
meanwhile left Saint Cyr. 

Gaston was bringing home with him the 
Viscount as his guest. 

“What can be the matter?” exclaimed 
Jeanne. “The carriage should have been 
here long ago.” 

“ Are you in a hurry, Jeanne ?” said a voice 
from a Turkish couch. 


28 


JLhc Chateau he IDervtUe 

‘'Ouirda, how can you laugh at me for 
being in a hurry to meet Gaston, when I 
have not seen him for such a long time,” 
added Jeanne, in a half-reproachful tone. 

“ If he were only coming home alone, as 
he used to do, it would be so much pleasanter.” 

“ I don’t think so, Ouirda. The Viscount 
is Gaston’s dearest friend, just as you are 
mine. I am already impressed in his favor, 
from Gaston’s description of his perfections,” 
said Jeanne, as she alternately watched the 
small ormolu clock on the mantel and the 
drive-way from the open windows. 

“There — they are coming!” joyfully ex- 
claimed Jeanne, as she hurried to the veranda, 
closely followed by her mother and Ouirda. 

A carriage turned from the park into the 
drive, swept around the gravelled walk with a 
craunching sound, and the spirited bays drew 
up at the wide, stone steps. 

“ Here we are 1” shouted Gaston, as he 
sprang from the carriage, with an elastic 
step, and clasped the Marquise in his arms.. 

“ My dear, dear mother I” exclaimed Gas- 
ton, embracing her with tenderness. 

The Viscount de Bruil was presented, then 

29 


©uir&a 


Gaston gazed at the two pretty girls behind 
his mother — Jeanne, now grown from a 
school-girl to a fashionable society woman, 
and Ouirda. Next he approached Ouirda, 
took her hands and regarded her with ad- 
miring eyes. Was it possible that this tall, 
elegant woman was the school-girl friend of 
his sister’s, and of whom he had always been 
so fond ? The Viscount bowed to the young 
ladies when introduced, and they all entered 
the house together. 

“ Mother, I am glad to get back,” said 
Gaston, as they walked through the wide 
hall. ‘‘We will shake off the dust of travel 
and then rejoin you.” 

“You will find your old rooms ready for 
you,” said his mother. 

“Thank you for all,” said Gaston, clasping 
both his mother’s hands, and again kissing 
her cheek. The two young men disappeared 
up the grand staircase. 

“ Oh ! Ouirda ! Isn’t he just splendid ?” 

“Who, Gaston?” 

“ No, you provoking girl. Of course, I 
mean the Viscount. He is so distinguished 
looking.” 

30 


Zbc Cbateau be IDervtlle 

“Yes, he is distinguished, but he is not half 
as good looking as Gaston,” replied Ouirda. 

“ And what a beautiful mustache.” 

“Why, Jeanne, I thought you admired 
men with smooth faces like Gaston.” 

“ I may have thought so once. I had never 
seen a mustache like that of the Viscount’s. 
I shall change my mind at once. What a 
romantic name, fetienne — fitienne de Bruil,” 
exclaimed Jeanne, impulsively. 

“ Come,” said Ouirda, “ let us go out in the 
garden and get some flowers to decorate 
ourselves, while we await their lordships’ 
return.” 

After dinner was over that evening Gaston 
and his friend entertained the family with 
anecdotes of their travels. The Viscount 
was an eloquent talker, and his descriptions 
were entertaining and sometimes amusing. 
Gaston and his mother conversed apart for a 
while. Looking out on the balcony, Gaston 
sees the full moon coming up, and proposes 
a stroll outside. The suggestion is received 
with pleasure, and they wander along the 
flower-decked terrace, then cross the sloping 
lawn almost down to the river’s edge. 

31 


©ulr&a 


They walk up and down the shore of the 
river, which glimmers in the moonlight ; the 
only noise was the splash of oars. On the 
opposite shore the rugged rocks break in 
depressions, through which clumps of cedar 
shine black and shadowy. The Viscount 
exclaims admiringly : 

How grand, Gaston ! We have not seen 
anything that excelled this on our travels.” 

For the first time in his life Gaston’s soul 
thrilled with a divine sense of home. The 
Marquise led the way back to the house. 
All were refreshed by the promenade in the 
soft evening air. 

Gaston asks his sister about her last year 
at school. 

'‘It can all be told briefly,” said Jeanne. 
“ Ouirda carried off all the honors — music, 
elocution, literature — everything.” 

“ Not everything, Jeanne,” replied Ouirda. 
“You were always in advance of me in de- 
portment, history, and art.” 

“The artistic qualities do not surprise me 
as much as the deportment,” laughingly an- 
swered Gaston. 

“Indeed,” said Jeanne, “we had many 
32 


Zl)c (Tbateau be IPcrvUle 


girls at our school who prided themselves 
on their deportment, and I really did not ex- 
pect the prize that was awarded to me. 
There were two young ladies from Germany, 
the daughters of a Prince, who were models 
of deportment, n’est ce pas, Ouirda ? They 
had many peculiarities. Ouirda can tell you 
about their queer German fads. She can 
describe them much better than I.’' 

After a little persuasion Ouirda said : 

Our school was full of mystery and ro- 
mance because of those German young ladies 
who were there. They introduced — what shall 
I call it ? Exaltation ! Do you know what it 
is? When one young girl makes another 
exaltee, because of her goodness or her 
beauty ; worships her, and serves her in all 
things, yet dare not speak to her ; and the girl 
who is exaltee, she must be proud and cold, 
and show scorn for her attendant, even though 
she has been her friend. These German 
girls from the Bohemian -Wald introduced it. 
Many would have wished to make them ex- 
altee, but they were always the first to seek 
out someone whom they admired, and no 
one was so humble and obedient as they 


33 


©uirba 


were. The convent was filled with it — it 
was a religion, an enthusiasm. You would 
see girls crying and kneeling on the floor, to 
show their love and admiration for a friend/' 

“ And you — were you ever exaltee ?" asked 
Gaston. 

“No," said Ouirda, with a little shrug. 
“ One or two of my friends wished to make 
me exaltee, but I laughed at them, and they 
were angry. I preferred to go about and be 
friends with everybody." 

“And did you never exalt any of the 
young ladies ?" asked the Viscount. 

“No, it was too troublesome," replied 
Ouirda. 

“It seems to me," observed the Viscount, 
“that it was a clever device to let a lot of 
girls make love to each other, for want of 
anybody else." 

“It is a pity you were not there," said 
Ouirda, graciously ; “ we should have been 
charmed to make you exalte." 

At which remark they all laughed heartily. 
The Marquise, noting the lateness of the 
hour, arose, saying : 

“We must now say ‘bon soir,’ for on the 
34 


Zbc Chateau he iDerviUe 


morrow our guests will arrive, and we must 
be ready to welcome them.’' 

The ladies left the room, and the two 
young men went into the lounging-room, 
which was a handsome apartment adjoining 
the library. It was richly furnished with 
luxurious easy chairs and couches, with 
hangings of rich, dark-colored silk covering 
the walls. 

A servant came and deposited a light 
lunch and a bottle of wine on a side table 
and withdrew. Left alone, the men talked 
over the events of the day, lighted their 
cigars, and, seeming impelled by the same 
impulse, settled themselves back in their 
chairs. 

The Viscount looked up at his friend, and, 
as if interpreting his thoughts, intoned : 

“ She is a charming girl. I believe I am 
half in love with her already.” 

Gaston started up from his chair. 

“ I am not surprised. I think I have always 
loved her. What heavenly blue eyes she 
has, and such rippling, golden hair.” 

He was interrupted by the Viscount, who 
eagerly interposed : 


35 


®utrt)a 


‘‘ Blue eyes ! golden hair ! Why, I was 
thinking of Mademoiselle Jeanne, with her 
soft, hazel eyes and her wood-brown hair.” 

With a sympathetic understanding, born 
of their close friendship, they arose, clasped 
hands, and went to their respective rooms. 


36 


CHAPTER III. 


THE HOUSE PARTY 

Qu’il vole, papillon chann6 
Pour I’atrait des roses de Mai 
Sur les l^vres du bien aim4.” 

HE day was perfect. The 
sun had sipped the dew that 
lay upon the morning grass. 
Birds were silent from ex- 
cess of languor; the flow- 
ers drooped pensively under 
the heat, and all nature was 
at rest. This tranquillity was 
disturbed on the eve of the expected guests, 
when the chateau became full of life and 
bustle. 

The Marquise had remarkable tact in the 
selection of her guests, and her house party 
was made up of congenial people. Scholars, 
grave men from the diplomatic circles, women 
of talent as well as beauty, and the fresh, 
bright faces of the younger guests all added 
charms to the gathering. 

37 



®uirt)a 


On this first day there was the usual com- 
motion among the guests and their attend- 
ants, getting installed in their respective apart- 
ments. Trim waiting-maids, flitting about, 
find time to do a little sly flirting as they 
pass the valets on the staircases or in the 
halls. The valets, in their turn, are taking 
mental notes of their respective attractions, 
for future entertainment and diversion. 

The first reunion of the family and guests 
occurred at the noon dejeuner. The breakfast- 
room at the Chateau de Verville was one of 
the most attractive in the house. The win- 
dows in the large apartment extended from 
ceiling to floor, and opened on a mag- 
nificent flower-garden. The perfumed air 
crept in, redolent with the breath of a thou- 
sand flowers. Outside in the sunshine the 
roses, with passion-flowers creeping among 
them, and the lilies bent their stately heads, 
and the jasmine waved its long tendrils. The 
charming scene was an enviable one to the 
guests from the city. 

After the luncheon, news from the city was 
eagerly asked for and readily given. 

The Marquise told her guests that she 
38 


Zlbe Ibouee parti? 

wished to give them pleasure, and sug- 
gested that they discuss what forms of enter- 
tainment would be most agreeable. Some 
declared for a garden party, others for a 
sail on the river, but the younger element 
favored a dance. A ball was soon decided 
upon, the young people knowing that the 
garden party and moonlight sail on the river 
would all come in due time. Invitations were 
sent out, and preparations began at once for 
the important event. 

Days pass with varied amusements. All 
enjoy themselves in whatever way pleases 
them best. The energetic young people were 
seen in groups on the wide-spreading pelouse, 
enjoying croquet, lawn-tennis, archery, and 
other out-door sports. The more sedate guests 
gathered in the summer-house and on the 
wide verandas. The wise ones discussed 
abstruse subjects that most interested them. 
The learned Depute Monsieur Renal Fer- 
vaques, with a profound dissertation on his 
ideas and opinions of mankind, entertained 
Madame de Colanges, an attractive lady, de- 
spite her uncertain age, having the rare 
merit of being a good listener ; the lady had 
39 


®uirt)a 


also her own private reasons for appearing 
to be intensely interested in what the digni- 
fied Depute was saying, as he was desirable, 
eligible, and a widower. Leaning forward 
in his garden chair he said in his sonorous 
voice that made him a reputation in the 
Chambre des Deputes : 

“One of the grandest missions on earth 
is to contribute to the pleasure of others. 
I have no confidence in, and little respect for, 
those who take no thought of their fellow- 
beings when they grasp life’s pleasures. My 
ideal of a man or woman with true nobility 
of character is one who, when listening to 
the babbling brook, the melody of the caged 
songster, or gazing with rapturous admiration 
upon the marvellous beauty of the bursting 
rose-bud, instinctively looks about him for a 
friend to partake of his joys.” 

The eyes of Monsieur le Depute wan- 
dered from one to another of his audience 
until they met those of Madame de Col- 
anges, his most attentive listener, and he 
was much flattered by the appreciation they 
expressed. Thus encouraged, he continued: 

“ My estimate of what is admirable may 

40 


Zhc ibouee parti? 

little accord with what another might con- 
sider the attributes of these desirable quail 
ties. One person might thoroughly enjoy 
dropping a crumb to the busy little ant, and 
watching with pleasure his apparent delight 
as he seized it and hurried away to his under- 
ground home, while another would not be 
interested in such a trifle. Then, too, many 
derive their greatest pleasure in life meeting 
and mingling with kindred spirits in society, 
while others prefer to live as recluses, and, in 
the impenetrable depths of seclusion, hide 
from a possible chance of being benefited 
or interested.’* 

“ How delightful your remarks are. Mon- 
sieur,” said I’Abbe Norbert, who had been 
a listener to the gifted Depute’s eloquence. 

The Abbe Norbert was one of those social 
beings who enjoyed good company and a 
good dinner, and was a frequent and wel- 
come guest at the chateau. He joined in the 
conversation, and being a fluent talker, his ad- 
vent was a desirable acquisition to the party. 

The conversation takes a more general 
turn, and Monsieur le Depute finds that he 
has a fertile mind and an able conversation- 


41 


®u^r^a 


/ 

/ 


alist to cope with. He is not an ardent 
admirer ‘^des ecclesiastiques/^ as he is volta- 
rian in religion, liberal in politics, and constitu- 
tional in principle. He instinctively feels an 
antagonism to all priests, although he is too 
polite to make it apparent. He finally refers 
to religious institutions, saying : 

“ My observations have shown me that the 
beneficial results of religion are surprisingly 
small in comparison to what one would 
naturally expect.’^ 

The Abbe, who feels that he must make 
some response to this remark, quietly replies 
in vindication : 

‘'You surely must admit that religious ob- 
servances, influences, and teachings are a 
great restrainer upon evil and vicious-minded 
persons. The Church in all ages has had an 
elevating tendency and has done a great 
deal of good.'' 

“Yes, I will admit it has done good ; to 
say nothing des pralines de Burges, des pa- 
tisseries de Linieres, des liqueurs de la grande 
chartreuse et de la Benedictine de Fecamp, 

et — des pains d'Epice de Rheims ," added 

the Depute. 


42 


^be 1bou0e ipartp 

His remarks did not elicit the applause he 
expected. The Abbe did not reply, but re- 
mained with closed lips, as much as to say, 
like Cardinal Mazarin, “ Let him sing, he will 
pay for it.’' 

They are joined at this moment by the 
celebrated and successful American physi- 
cian, Doctor Edward Campbell, and the con- 
versation took another turn. 

Someone asked him which he . considered 
the stronger, principles or temperament ? 

''That is a droll question,” replied the 
Doctor. " Principles regulate governments, 
but do not determine them. Governments 
are like garments, we outgrow them and 
seek new ones.” 

" Exactly !” said the Depute. 

" And I, who always wear the same style 
of a garment, do not quarrel with the fash- 
ions,” interposed the Abbe. 

The Doctor remarked in reply, with a de- 
precatory gesture : 

" Humanity is the determining factor. The 
garment follows where it leads ; one is only 
the expression of the other. I hold to my 
simile in its original sense.” 

43 


®uir&a 


“Then you think that the nation is like a 
growing child; if his garment does not fit 
him he will burst the seams, and the only 
remedy is to give him a new one, or put him 
in a strait-jacket,’' said the Abbe. 

The Doctor laughingly replied : 

“You always get the better of me in an 
argument when I do not confine myself to 
bromides and physics. But sometimes I like 
to turn away from sorrow, disease, and death. 
They follow a man like his shadow, and are 
the inalienable curse of life. There are two 
things in our lives that are absolutely certain 
— death and sorrow. The shadow of sorrow 
falls athwart our pathway through life, and 
death awaits us at the end. But I am get-^ 
ting a little gloomy. Come, Monsieur V Abbe, 
let us join the young folks on the lawn and 
forget sombre subjects — above all, that we 
are growing old.” 

After the Doctor and the Abbe walked 
away the literary party resumed their subject 
of conversation. They talked of all the pop- 
ular writers of the day — the talented artists, 
the great musicians and their works — and 
there was a marked difference in opinion as 

44 


tTbe Ibou^e part? 

to which particular talent mankind is most 
indebted. 

Mademoiselle Torcaste, who is a gifted 
lady amateur of many accomplishments, was 
appealed to for her opinion, which she gave 
unhesitatingly, saying : 

Art and artists have done much to beau- 
tify and embellish our homes and our churches. 
Pictures are an education that everyone can 
understand and enjoy, whether cultured or 
not. Our eyes are delighted with the beau- 
ties of nature, when faithfully portrayed by 
the artist.’' 

“And music. Mademoiselle; what could we 
do without the melody of sweet sounds?” 
asked the Depute. 

He was answered by a youthful voice, say- 
ing : 

“And what would we do without music 
for our dance next Tuesday ?” 

This remark was received with a hearty 
laugh from them all, as Mademoiselle Jeanne 
tripped away to join her comrades on the 
lawn. 

Monsieur Renal Fervaques remarked: 

“The Doctor’s ideas about principles and 
45 


©utrba 


governments were exceedingly original, don’t 
you think so, Monsieur Auban ?” 

A thoughtful expression came over the in- 
telligent face of Monsieur Th^ron Auban, 
the popular author, as he replied : 

“Yes, but there are so many things in the 
governing of this Republic of France that 
could be improved upon. There is much in 
the army that is objectionable, and there is 
little enthusiasm nowadays in comparison to 
what there was in the time of Napoleon I. 
There does not exist the same patriotism.” 

‘‘You are not altogether in the right in ^ 
your assertions. Monsieur Auban,” rejoined 
Fervaques. “ There are still some patriotic 
sons left in France who would give their life- 
blood to see her rise up once again to her 
glory and be what she once was, a queen of 
nations.” 

“ I do not dispute the fact that there 
are many who have the old fire of patriotism 
in their blood,” declared Auban. “I speak 
only of the multitude. They are not the same. 

I do not think it is altogether because of the 
German conquest, nor because she has some 
unwise rulers, that France has fallen and is 

46 


Zbc 1bou0e part)? 

still falling. It is because of the new morals 
and opinions of the present age, propounded 
and accepted by the narrow-minded, super- 
ficial thinkers, who seem to wield more influ- 
ence with the masses than wise and just men 
are capable of doing.’ ^ 

Monsieur le Depute did not particularly 
enjoy this plain style of talking, and adroitly 
changed the subject by saying : 

“ Monsieur Auban, what style of literature 
do you think the most desirable for the 
masses, always excepting theology?” 
Monsieur Auban amiably replied : 

We all have a keen appreciation of the 
wealth of knowledge one finds in literature of 
all description. Some enjoy the profound 
wisdom of the philosophers, others enjoy only 
what is intensely sensational ; and yet, how 
true it is that the world owes its richest bless- 
ings, and history its brightest pages, to the 
writer who can entertain and interest us 
enough to make us forget the petty annoy- 
ances of this every-day existence, so that we 
will laugh at care and worry. For it is wisely 
said that ‘one spark of mirth is worth an 
ocean of tears.’ ” 


47 


®uir&a 


The conversational party was now joined 
by arrivals from the archery contest, and 
further discussions were deferred. 

It was noticeable that Mademoiselle de 
Verville and the Viscount de Bruil seemed 
partial to each other’s society. The elder 
ones nodded approvingly and whispered to- 
gether, “What an admirable match it would 
be. The Viscount is rich, he has fine estates 
in the departement of Ard^che. To be sure, 
he cares very little for the gaieties of Parisian 
society or club life, and prefers to live at his 
chateau in the country, which he is constantly 
improving and beautifying. All things con- 
sidered, it would be a very desirable marriage 
in every respect.” 

The Viscount has fancied himself in love 
before, more than once, perhaps — there are 
few young men of six-and-twenty who have not 
— but those had been brief fancies, harmless 
flirtations, and laughed over when extin- 
guished, not to be compared with the affec- 
tion he now has for Mademoiselle Jeanne. 

This was the first time he has thought 
seriously of marriage, and now there was 
nothing he desired more ardently. True, 

48 


Zhc lbou0e parti? 

he had not known her personally but a few 
short weeks, but through her brother, his 
friend Gaston, he had known of her for 
years. He knew she was gentle and sweet- 
natured, as her devotion to her family and 
her friend. Miss Winston, proved. He had 
a warm advocate to his suit in his friend 
Gaston, and he had gained the consent of the 
Marquise to woo the fair Jeanne, and, if pos- 
sible, to win her for his wife. 

One of the latest arrivals among the guests 
at the chateau was a very dear old friend of 
the family. General de Kiersabec, a retired 
army officer. He was distantly related to 
the Marquise’s husband, and at the same 
time was his most intimate friend. On the 
Marquis de Verville’s death-bed he asked 
the General to watch over and advise his 
wife and fatherless children. It is only on 
rare occasions that he leaves his home ; 
therefore, a brief description of this eccen- 
tric old man will not be amiss. 

He owns a fine estate, situated in the de- 
partement of the Vosges. After his retire- 
ment from the army he re-christened his 
home, calling it ''La Barraque,” and he re- 


©uir&a 


quired all the routine of the place to be 
executed with strict military precision. 

''La Barraque'' is a museum of relics of 
the wars in which the General has partici- 
pated, and in contemplating this unique 
collection he lives over again his many cam- 
paigns. 

His household consists of the General 
himself, who is a bachelor, his major-domo, 
Pierre Bouret, who was a sergeant in the 
army, and who is entirely devoted to the 
General and the interest of " La Barraque.’^ 
Pierre rules and directs his small army of 
servants with military tactics and discipline. 
Gervais Domeyer is the gardener, and his 
wife, Margot, the housekeeper. Besides these 
are the many other ordinary domestics that 
are usually required on a gentleman’s place. 

The Domeyers have one child, a daughter, 
named Nannette, who possesses a little more 
than the usual amount of attractions that 
are sometimes met with among the lower 
classes. She was soon made aware of her 
pretty face and figure by the attentions of 
the young men about the place ; but she dis- 
dained them all, and longed for a larger field 
50 


Zbc Ibouee parti? 

for her attractions than the secluded life at 
‘'La Barraque’’ offered. After many un- 
successful attempts she finally persuaded her 
parents to allow her to go to Paris and become 
a dressmaker. Margot, after long consulta- 
tion with Father Gervais, decided to listen 
to her daughter’s constant pleadings, and 
together they went to Paris, where Margot 
placed her daughter with Madame Laurent, 
the fashionable dressmaker of the Rue 
Lafitte, at the same time securing a home 
for the girl at the family of a friend who 
lived in Montmartre. Nannette was now 
content, for she soon attracted the much 
longed-for admiration in her daily trips to 
and from Madame Laurent’s, and was grati- 
fied by the admiring glances bestowed upon 
her, and she proudly treasured the com- 
plimentary expressions that the gay gallants 
let fall from their flippant tongues. 

We will follow her career as a petite 
couturi^re hereafter, and return now to the 
General and “La Barraque.” One of his 
peculiarities was his kindness to and consid- 
eration for animals. His favorite horse, 
“Rex,” that had borne him safely through 
51 


®uir&a 


many battles, was attended to in the most 
careful manner. His paddock was opposite 
the lawn, where the General could look out 
of his library window and see him on fine 
days at any time. Every morning this horse 
was brought up to the door to be caressed 
by his old master. His stable was large and 
comfortable, and he could go in and out at 
his pleasure. In one room all his accoutre- 
ments were hung with great care, and were 
proudly shown to admiring friends. It was 
touchingly pathetic to witness the affection 
of this grand old soldier for his faithful horse, 
who seemed to appreciate and understand it. 

Besides the war-horse the General had his 
old dog, “ Due,’' who was his constant com- 
panion. It is not necessary to tell of his 
devotion — the theme is worn out ; but there 
comes a time in your life when you have 
been deceived where you most trusted. If 
you have a dog for a friend, then you will 
appreciate the honest face, the sincere caress, 
the coaxing whine that never lied ! How 
many of us in our hours of deep trouble 
have looked for sympathy into the eyes of a 
favorite dog, and met them fixed with that 
52 


Zl)c Ibouee parti? 

strange wistfulness which they always so 
sympathizingly assume. A dog’s life is of 
brief duration ; rarely more than ten or 
twelve years — a short career for so much 
truth and sincere friendship ! 

The General had accepted the urgent in- 
vitation of his old friend, the Marquise de 
Verville, to join her house party and assist 
in the festivities given in honor of the debut 
of the two young ladies and the homecom- 
ing of her son and his guest, the Viscount 
de Bruil. 

The General was a great favorite with all 
the young people, notwithstanding his many 
peculiarities, and his coming was welcomed 
by them all. 


53 


CHAPTER IV. 


THE GRAND BALL 

** Vous aurez beau faire, 

Et bon grd, mal gr6 
Moi, je veux vous plaire 
Et je vous plairai.” 


HE preparations for the ball 
were completed. Jeanne 
and Ouirda made a tour of 
the rooms, with exclama- 
tions of delight. The wild- 
est dreams of what their 
first ball should be were 
exceeded. 

The moon was full, and the lawn lay in a 
sheet of silver light, while the lamps cast 
long rays of color. Roses were everywhere. 
All the air was sweet with perfume that 
stirred the pulse like some rare enchantment. 
The odorous evergreens were rich in new 
and fragrant growths, the velvet turf gave 

54 



Zbc (Brant) Ball 


out a perfume of its own to the night air, 
and looked like emerald in the moonlight. 

It is many hours later, and the dance is at 
its best and gayest. The sound of music 
and the delicate perfume of dying flowers is 
in the air. The rooms are filled with the 
highest and brightest of Parisian society. 
Pretty women in toilettes almost as charming 
as themselves are smiling, waving fans, and 
doing all the damage that soft eyes and 
pretty speeches are supposed to do. 

Gaston and his friend, the Viscount, are 
enjoying the evening’s pleasure with little 
less zest than the two girl debutantes. 

Gaston is awaiting his chance to dance 
with Ouirda. There was no denying the 
fact that he had fallen deeply in love with 
her, and, being of an impetuous tempera- 
ment, had done so with all the enthusiasm 
that might have been expected of him. 

He loved Ouirda. He had loved her as 
a boy, and now that he had arrived at man’s 
estate, he associated her with every hope of 
his future life. He felt that she was worthy 
of being worshipped, and in his present state 
of mind, Ouirda, with her well-modulated 
55 


©uir&a 


voice, her heavenly blue eyes, and tetider, 
serious enthusiasm, was as worthy of worship 
as any ‘^Madonna Laura’' or “Blessed 
Damozel ” in the golden days of mediaeval- 
ism. 

Gaston wanted to tell her of his passion. 
He wanted her for his honored wife — to be- 
come her guide, friend, husband, and lover in 
one — to appropriate for his own this rarely 
beautiful girl before some other soul less 
loving should dim those unclouded eyes with 
the shadow of this world’s wisdom. He had 
a grand and ancient name, untarnished for 
generations ; why should he hesitate ? At 
times he was fearful she did not think of him 
kindly. She was always so frank and sisterly 
in her ways. As yet she was fancy free ; of 
this fact he felt convinced. Then he thought 
of all the years she had liked him, and 
“liking” with some young girls is often only 
one step from love. 

With a sudden desire to prove the extent 
of this liking, and also to know his fate, he 
enters the ballroom to seek Ouirda. He 
soon singled her out amid the throng. The 
musicians are playing a favorite waltz, “ Mon 
56 


Zbc 6ran& Ball 


Reve/' He approaches her ; she is awaiting 
him. His arm is around her supple waist, 
and her perfect head is very near his own ; 
he is as happy as a man can be who holds 
all he deems most precious for one moment 
to his heart, knowing that the next may 
separate them forever. Presently they paused 
to rest, and finding themselves near the door 
of the conservatory, he asks : 

“Are you tired, Ouirda?’' 

She raises her hand and slightly waves her 
fan, and smilingly replies : 

“ Not very.’’ 

“ Let us walk a little. It is so lovely out- 
side.” 

He presses the hand resting upon his arm, 
and moves toward the open door of the cool 
retreat before them. They pass into the 
dimly-lighted conservatory, where a little 
fountain is sparkling, sending forth a sweet 
music of its own, and where lovely flowers 
and green leaves are shining beneath the 
subdued light of the lamps. All is favor- 
able, and Gaston tells Ouirda his devotion, 
and in impassioned words begs her to give 
him her love — to be his wife. 


57 


®uir&a 


Ouirda is silent. She looked with sadness 
into his earnest eyes, and says, slowly and 
softly : 

“ I am so sorry, my dear Gaston, my dear 
brother; so grieved that this has occurred. 
Forget all that you have said, and let us 
always be good friends, just as we have been 
before.’* 

Gaston takes her hands and pleads still 
more earnestly, and employs all his eloquence 
to win a response to his love. Ouirda tries 
to check his impassioned words, gently with- 
drawing her hands. 

'‘No, Gaston,” she says, "you must 
understand me. I cannot be your wife. I 
am sure I do not love you that way. Indeed, 
I do think a great deal of you ; you will 
always be my best, my truest friend.” 

She turns away from his despairing face 
and walks slowly back toward the ballroom. 
Standing a moment in the doorway she 
gazes without seeing the swaying crowd be- 
fore her. Presently she becomes conscious 
that two dark, handsome eyes are fixed upon 
her, and entering the room she finds the 
Count de Sarzeau standing at her side. 

58 


Z\)c (Branb ffiall 


‘‘Not dancing, Mademoiselle? Perhaps 
you are weary. Allow me to conduct you to 
a chair.'' 

They make their way slowly through the 
dancers and enter a small salon opening off 
the ballroom. The music is so far away that 
the noise and confusion are almost forgotten. 
Ouirda sinks into a chair in a wearied man- 
ner and longs to be alone. 

“ Can I be of service to you in any way?" 
asks the Count. 

“ Thank you, no ; you are very good. I 
am only slightly fatigued," she replies, list- 
lessly. 

“ May I get you something — a glass of 
wine, or an ice?" 

“ Ah ! no, nothing, I thank you. Will you 
pardon me, but I wish to be alone for a few 
moments." 

“Your wishes are not to be disregarded. 
Mademoiselle, however much they pain me," 
says the Count, bowing profoundly. 

Left alone, Ouirda tries to recover her van- 
ished spirits. She recalls the interview be- 
tween Gaston and herself with deep regret. 
After resting awhile she finds her way back 
59 


©uir&a 


to the gay assembly, where she is imme- 
diately joined by Jeanne and the Viscount de 
Bruil, who have been seeking her through 
the rooms. 

“Ah, ch^rie, here you are at last!’' ex- 
claimed Jeanne. “And where is Gaston? 
He was to waltz with me this time.” 

“ As Gaston is not here, will you allow me 
to profit by his absence ?” said the Viscount. 

Jeanne takes his arm, and they turn away 
to join the merry, whirling throng. Ouirda 
is not permitted to be a wallflower very long. 
Monsieur Armand de Bossier hastily ap- 
proaches and asks in his persuasive voice : 

“May I hope for one dance to-night. 
Mademoiselle? or do I, as usual, come too 
late?” 

“ Quite too late ; every dance is promised. 
Look at my card ?” 

“ I am, indeed, unfortunate ; there’s no 
denying that. Is there no one you could 
throw over to give me one little dance ?” 

“ I never disappoint my partners,” replies 
Miss Winston ; “ my conscience is opposed 
to that, and will not allow me to break my 
word, once given.” 


6o 


Zbc ©rani) Ball 


“Yes, I think I remember once before of 
being ignominiously consigned to the back- 
ground,” he replies, meaningly, remembering 
a little love episode that he had endeavored 
to inflict upon Ouirda. 

“ Do you ? ” she innocently queries. 
“ Memory is not my strong point, so I shall 
not discuss the subject.” 

“ ‘ 'Tis folly to remember,’ ” said Monsieur 
de Bossier quoting from a song she herself is 
fond of singing, and with a short, unmirthful 
laugh, continued: “You are right to en- 
courage forgetfulness. It should be one of 
our greatest aims. But, to return to our 
first discussion, I am, indeed, the unhappiest 
of men. Is there no hope that you will 
change your mind and let me be favored with 
just what is left of this waltz?” 

“I can offer you no hope,” she replies, 
looking up with her bright eyes to his hand- 
some face. 

He bows with a smile and disappears 
among the crowd, thinking, “ She is as proud 
as ever. She disdained my disinterested 
love, and the honor of giving me her fortune, 
together with her elegant self ; and now, she 

6l 


®uir&a 


would not give me even one little waltz, 
vraiment ! I shall have to give up this mat- 
rimonial chase, and be more than ever atten- 
tive in another direction. I must go more 
frequently to mass at the Madeleine. Per- 
haps I can be successful in making a favor- 
able impression on that rich, young Spanish 
girl, for whom I have been playing the 
devout so long. Already she has cast fur- 
tive glances in my direction, which I have 
taken good care to return with interest. 
Aliens mon ami ! courage, tout n’est pas 
perdu !’* 

Mademoiselle Jeanne is enjoying herself 
with the ardor of youth, and a heart full of 
happiness. She is promenading with the 
Viscount de Bruil, who is loath to leave her 
side. Approaching them is a dignified mili- 
tary man, General de Kiersabec, with whom 
Jeanne is a great favorite. 

“ Are you not going to dance, cher Gen- 
eral ?” 

Dance, Mademoiselle ! An old fellow like 
me, dance?’’ 

“You are not old,” said Jeanne, and her 
face is an interesting study of affected indig- 

62 


Zbc (5ran& JSall 


nation. “ Come/' she continues, coaxingly ; 
'‘come, dance this time with me. Quel 
temps valsez-vous. General, deux temps ou 
trois temps?" 

“Ah! Mademoiselle, pour moi la valse 
n’a qu’un temps, et mon temps est passe." 

Her face clouds over, and she asks : 

“ Do people ever get too old to dance ?" 

“ They certainly do," replied the General, 
with a sad smile. Then he turns away from 
the fresh, young face, soliloquizing, “Why 
am I here ? I am old, bald, rheumatic, and 
generally shaky. Yes, I am too old to dance ; 
but, surely, I am not too old for a glass of 
champagne punch," and he wends his way to 
the supper-room. 

The guests depart at a late hour. The 
lights are turned out by the sleepy servants, 
and the family go to their separate apart- 
ments. 

The Viscount joins his friend Gaston for 
a little chat over their cigars before retiring. 
He is eager to tell him of his happiness, that 
Mademoiselle Jeanne returns his love, and 
has given him her promise to be his wife. 
He wishes all to be arranged as speedily as 
63 


®uir&a 


possible, and suggests that on the morrow 
the announcement of the engagement be 
made. 

Gaston grasps his friend’s hand, and says 
with much feeling : 

God bless you and Jeanne.” 

Sad thoughts fill his heart, as he contrasts 
the joy of his friend fetienne with his own 
disappointed hopes. 

Ouirda is in her room. Her maid, Don- 
alie, is brushing her long golden hair, and is 
wondering what can have happened to change 
her beautiful Mademoiselle in a few short 
hours. She had been so gay over the toi- 
lette for her first ball, and now she is so 
listless and silent. 

Ouirda is not entirely happy over the 
events of the evening. Her heart is full of 
sorrow for Gaston, for whom she is really 
fond, and it grieves her to see him so de- 
jected by her refusal to become his wife. 

Then she thinks of the Marquise, and 
wonders if she could have known that Gaston 
wished her for his wife. Many times of late 
the Marquise had tenderly murmured, “ My 
dear daughter ! ” 


64 


Zbc (5ran& Ball 


Jeanne comes in to say her usual bonne 
nuit, looking charmingly pretty in a pink 
wrapper, her face radiant with happiness. 

Ouirda dismisses her maid, thinking that 
Jeanne may have some confidences to impart 
to her. As soon as they are alone Jeanne 
burst out: 

Oh ! Ouirda, dear, I am so happy ! What 
do you think? Etienne loves me, and he 
wants me to marry him real soon. He says 
mamma is perfectly willing ; and she is, for 
she blessed me when I told her just now. 
Gaston wijl be so pleased to be really his 
brother. Oh! cherie I aren’t you glad ? He 
says that you and I must always be devoted 
friends as now ; that I must love him ever so 
much — as if one could help loving him I Be- 
sides, he has talked it all over with mamma 
long ago. That was nice, wasn’t it? He 
doesn’t care whether I have any ‘ dot ’ 
or not, if only we are married soon, and 
he wants to take a trip around the world 
after our marriage, while putting his home in 
order. Dear Etienne I He has no family, 
and I am to be his mother, sister, wife, and 
everything to him. And when we come back 
^55 


5 


®uir&a 


from our trip we are going to his chateau in 
the departement de FArd^che, and settle 
down like old folks, where you, Gaston, and 
mamma are to come and visit us.’^ 

Ouirda affectionately embraces her sweet, 
impulsive friend, and wishes that her fondest 
anticipations may be realized. 

“Thank you, Ouirda, darling, dearest,'* 
and, giving her friend a good hug, she dances 
out of the room. 

She is so full of her own happiness she 
does not see the half-sad expression that 
overshadows the face of her friend. 


66 


CHAPTER V. 


THE FAUBOURG SAINT GERMAIN 

“ Elle avail de beau cheveux blonds 
Comme une moisson d’A6ut si longue 
Elle avail une voix Strange 
Musicale, de f6e ou d’ange.” 


UMMER passed at the Cha- 
teau de Verville with the 
usual varieties of pleasures. 
The engagement of Made- 
moiselle Jeanne was an- 
nounced immediately after 
the ball, and she received 
the congratulations of her 
friends with unaffected pleasure. It was de- 
cided that the marriage should take place be- 
fore the family returned to Paris. Therefore, 
after the guests had taken their departure, the 
family settled themselves down for a season 
of quietude and preparation for the event. 
The wedding was to be a very quiet one, 
owing to the death of an aged relative of 
67 



©uirba 


the Viscount de Bruil, and after the cere- 
mony the happy pair were to start at once on 
their pleasure trip, intending to go around the 
world, if they did not grow weary of travel- 
ling before its accomplishment. The Mar- 
quise was sad to think of parting so soon 
from her cheerful daughter, although she 
was rejoiced that her future happiness was 
assured. 

The wedding-day came and the quiet mar- 
riage ceremonies were witnessed only by the 
members of the family and a few of their 
most intimate friends. After the congratu- 
lations and the wedding-breakfast the Vis- 
count and his young bride started on their 
long journey. 

Jeanne had been happy as a bird through- 
out their short engagement and was enthu- 
siastic over the prospect of travelling and 
seeing every country in the world. Her love 
for the Viscount was the first real, earnest 
emotion of her young life, and her happiness 
was complete. When the moment of parting 
came she realized that she was leaving for a 
long time those who had been most dear to 
her, her mother, her brother, and Ouirda. 

63 


Zbc fauboura Saint (Bermain 

As the carriage rolled away, the tears were 
streaming from her eyes, and her hands were 
extended toward them in a last adieu. 

Pleading her loneliness, the Marquise de 
Verville urged Ouirda to return with them 
to Paris and continue to be their guest. To 
this appeal Ouirda was not insensible. She 
remained with the family, and by her affec- 
tion repaid their kindness to such a degree 
that the lonely mother felt that she had not 
entirely lost the ministrations of a loved 
daughter. 

From a social point of view, as well as 
their more intimate associations, the Mar- 
quise was well pleased with her protegee. At 
the opera or receptions Ouirda was always 
admired, and her presence at those usually 
dreary affairs, “afternoons at home,” insured 
their success. She was shown marked at- 
tention by the Princess de Salande, who gave 
entertainments in her honor, and she was 
petted and admired by the Princess’s most 
exclusive set. The Marquise was pleased 
that the Princess, a power in the social 
world in Paris, interested herself in and con- 
tributed to the happiness of her young guest. 

69 


©ulrba 


To be sure, there were envious persons 
unkind enough to whisper that there was a 
motive that inspired the Princess to be espe- 
cially interested in young ladies who had 
youth and beauty to recommend them, but 
if wealth were added to these attractions, 
she was proportionately Interested, and her 
attentions were unwearying. She always 
seemed extremely anxious that they should 
be advantageously married, and this peculiar 
fad had gained for her the reputation of 
being a society match-maker. 

Filling an unquestionable social position, 
and knowing intimately all the elite of Paris, 
gave the Princess unrivalled opportunities to 
pursue this favorite pastime. She was anxious 
that Miss Winston and her fortune should 
be well placed in the charmed circle of the 
French nobility. Among her acquaintances 
were many young men with titles who were 
eligible, il n'y avait que I’embarras du choix. 
But she wished to find one who would ap- 
preciate her valuable services in aiding him 
to secure a wife desirable in every respect. 
At the same time, he must be a young man 
to whom she could make the necessary over- 
70 


^Tbe ifaubourG Satnt (Sermain 

tures — one whose name was worthy of being 
exchanged for a fortune, and whose financial 
status required upholding. 

To accomplish this end, when once she 
had decided upon the man, and the plan to 
insure its success, she usually called to her 
aid Madame Montfort, a cultured woman, the 
widow of an English gentleman, to whom 
she had been married when quite young. 
She lived in London until his death, when 
she returned to her beloved Paris. By asso- 
ciating herself with the Princess, and aiding 
her in her peculiar match-making enterprises, 
she had been able to increase her small in- 
come to a comfortable competence. 

The predominating principle of their 
methods was to unite American wealth with 
titles of ancient and honorable lineage, 
always selecting, if possible, a coronet in 
need of repairs and requiring gold to re- 
store it to its former brilliancy. If its repu- 
tation was a little tarnished, also, it could 
still be made available, providing the titled 
monsieur was prepossessing and a successful 
wooer. 

Madame Montfort had the entree to all 

71 


©uirba 


the fashionable world, and speaking English 
fluently, she was enabled to become ac- 
quainted at once with all the American 
families that were fond of Paris and French 
society. The Madame ingratiated herself 
with them at once, by the charming way in 
which she courted their society, and later 
on offering to present them to some of her 
friends — the Princess de Salande, the Count- 
ess de Tradelle and many others whom it 
would be desirable to know. Her manners 
were so perfect that it was no wonder she 
became popular with all newcomers, and had 
no difficulty in leading them into the care- 
fully-prepared matrimonial net arranged for 
them. 

The Princess's methods were varied accord- 
ing to the circumstances of each particular 
case. With a rich American in prospect, she 
selected a titled monsieur, who had all the 
prestige of ancient family and a fine chateau 
in the country, that may have been the first 
gift of royalty in previous generations. 

The Princess instructs her chere amie, 
Madame Montfort, and sends her to the gen- 
tleman whom she has selected, to make to 
72 


ZTbe jfaubourg Satnt (Bermatn 

him the preliminary advances. Uusually it 
is not difficult. He grasps the bait so ad- 
vantageously presented, and the terms are 
arranged with little hesitation or haggling. 
Operations are speedily begun, and the Prin- 
cess interests herself in the fair victim and 
her family or guardians. Entertainments are 
arranged, and by judicious flattery she soon 
has her schemes working admirably. 

In due time the young lady receives a pro- 
posal of marriage from a man of title, allied 
perhaps to one of the noblest families in 
France. Naturally, the young lady, her 
family, and all her friends think she has se- 
cured the best match of the season, and she 
is congratulated thereon, while the young 
man will be envied by many of his friends 
and associates who are in a financial situation 
similar to his. 

The Princess de Salande is supplied with 
a husband of ripe years, well preserved, and 
always well dressed. He fancies himself 
young, good-looking, and irresistible. His 
lean face bears an habitual smile, which, 
if not indicative of pleasure, enables him to 
display a fine set of teeth, for which he is 
73 


©uitba 


indebted to his dentist. Like all bon-vivants 
who have abused life, the Prince de Salande 
is not the same man in the early part of 
the day — the heavy eyelids and that weary 
fall of the muscles of the cheeks betray 
the convivial three-bottle man, and his hand 
always trembles a little when taking his 
brandy and soda before dejeuner at mid- 
day. 

In the afternoon he is himself again, and can 
always be seen on the fashionable promenades, 
the grand boulevard or the Champs-Elysees. 
He is on the alert to ogle every young girl 
with a pretty face that comes within range of 
his vision. He has passed through all the 
small stations in the flirtations of life, the 
whisperings under the parasol or behind the 
fan, the pressure of the hand, appointments 
at the picture galleries, refreshments at Bra- 
bant's or Voisin’s. He has now arrived at 
the time of life when he figures best at the 
dinner parties, and in the drawing-room ol 
his popular wife he is considered an essen- 
tial article among the furniture. In their box 
at the opera the Prince represses, as well as 
he can, his inclination to yawn, but never 
74 


Z\)c ffauboura Saint (Bermain 

neglects to supply his wife with the requisite 
bouquet of flowers and bonbons. 

He lives in the past — in the memories of 
his liaisons — and he half-imagines that he has 
materially aided in saving his beloved France 
in troublesome times by courageously siding 
with the strongest and upholding the major- 
ity in all its inequalities. To be sure, he 
has profited by the number of sinecures he 
has filled, gratuities, shares of stocks, and 
advantages of every description that his 
grateful country has conferred upon him. 
At the clubs, he is an inveterate devotee to 
baccarat, and after disastrous nights at his 
favorite game he always is specially amiable 
to the Princess. 

Such had been the history of the previous 
night, and he now sat awaiting the appear- 
ance of his forgiving spouse at dejeuner; he 
hoped she would make him an advance to 
put him on his feet. 

Madame comes in, and he meets her with 
much apparent pleasure and gallantly bows 
over her hand. He is solicitous in his in- 
quiries as to how she finds herself this fine 
morning, and if she has passe une bonne 
75 


©uir&a 


nuit. From the usual compliments they 
finally pass to what is uppermost in his mind 
— finances. They have the usual conjugal 
discussion, and evidently the Prince did not 
enjoy the pointed manner in which Madame 
referred to his evenings at the club. Mon- 
sieur decided it unwise to prefer his request, 
and resolved to await a more favorable op- 
portunity. With an air of general dissatis- 
faction he arose from the table, kissed the 
hand of the Princess with the utmost polite- 
ness, and departed for his afternoon prome- 
nade. Leaving the house he encountered 
Madame Montfort. She called to report the 
progress made since receiving her instruc- 
tions regarding the last marriage intrigue. 

‘‘You have succeeded admirably with the 
young miss,’' said the Princess. “ She is al- 
ready thinking favorably of the handsome 
Count de Sarzeau, and has, no doubt, been 
repeating blushingly, many times over, ‘La 
Comtesse de Sarzeau ! ’ Rest assured, we 
shall not have any trouble or difficulty in 
that quarter. Now, you must call upon the 
Count. He is in desperate straits. I am in- 
formed by a member of his club that he re- 
76 


Z\)c faubourg Saiut (Bermafn 

cently lost heavily at cards, and this time he 
has no resources whatever by which to extri- 
cate himself. See him at once, this evening, 
choose the hour just before he goes to din- 
ner. I am quite confident he will accept our 
terms. He needs the fortune, and he will 
not object to the necessary appendage, a 
handsome girl for a wife.” 

“And what disposition will he make of 
that beautiful Russian woman, his mistress ?” 
asked Madame Montfort. “What will we 
do with her?” 

The Princess elevates her eyebrows, and a 
shade of impatience and annoyance passes 
over her face as she continues : 

“Let the Count arrange tout cela lui 
meme. Talk to him only of our affair, and 
now, as you fully understand what you must 
say and do, I must beg you to excuse me, 
as I have many engagements, and I am 
pressed for time. Shall I see you at the 
reception of the American Ambassador this 
evening? ” 

“ I am not sure. I may be detained else- 
where.” 

“ Tres bien ; then come to me to-morrow at 
77 


®u^r^a 


this hour and tell me how you have managed 
the Count. Au re voir, et a domain.’' 

The Princess decided to make a friendly 
call upon the Marquise de Verville and Miss 
Winston, and ordered her carriage. She 
found the Marquise and her guest at home, 
and after a warm greeting she congratulated 
the former on having the society of so charm- 
ing a guest to console her in her daughter’s 
absence. Quite diplomatic in her manner 
and conversation, she succeeded in impress- 
ing the Marquise and Miss Winston with the 
idea that she was very fond of them. She 
ascertained that they would attend the Am- 
bassador’s reception that evening, and re- 
solved to be there, hoping that an opportunity 
would present itself to further her plans for 
Mademoiselle’s future happiness, and, at the 
same time, to insure an alliance of capital 
with nobility. 


78 


CHAPTER VI. 


REGILDING A CORONET 

“ Mieux que la r^alit^ 

Vaut un beau mensonge.” 


N the aristocratic Faubourg 
Saint Germain stood the 
grand old city mansion of 
the De Sarzeau family. It 
had been their home through 
many political conflicts and 
social changes. The rooms 
were full of historic remind- 
ers of the important part the heads of the 
family had taken in the unhappy conflicts 
affecting the destinies of France. 

The library was a remarkable room. Rus- 
set Flanders' leather hung from the ceiling 
to the floor, covered with wickedly quaint 
designs embossed in gold — processions of 
dancing Satyrs, leering Fauns, and graceful 
Nymphs. All the horrors of Orgagna's Last 
Judgment," mingled with the antique grace 
79 



©uirba 


of the Pompeian frescos, were portrayed on 
those lofty walls. In one corner stood a 
gigantic figure clad in armor that may have 
been worn by one of the Counts de Sarzeau, 
as the history of the family speaks of the 
astonishing height of one Count Hector de 
Sarzeau, and the remarkable size of the 
armor goes to prove the tradition. How- 
ever, no joyous young face now smiled from 
its iron casement; only a grinning skull 
represented the head that once had supported 
the plumed helmet. 

Between the pedestals upholding, one, the 
figure of Justinius and, the other, a crowned 
Bacchus stood a curious old cabinet, covered 
with hieroglyphics and filled with a strange 
conglomeration of dried bats and crumbling 
bones, which must have belonged to an order 
of creation long extinct. Over the high, 
carved mantelpiece hung a Titian “Mag- 
dalen.” Above the frame were crossed sev- 
eral formidable-looking sabres and daggers, 
serving as a background to a delicate Toledo 
sword with an exquisitely engraved hilt. A 
pair of antique bronze urns ornamented each 
end of the mantel, and in the centre a Louis 

8o 


IRcfiilbtng a Coronet 

XIV. dock marked the hour. An ancient, 
carved fireplace, setting forth in bass-relief the 
triumphs of Jupiter, contained some smoulder- 
ing logs, upheld by irons in the form of 
Centaurs clasping their hands above their 
shaggy heads. 

Before the fire, and near a heavy ebony 
table, in a high-back, carved chair, which 
even a king of France would have been 
proud to own, sat Raoul, Count de Sarzeau — 
handsome, elegant, and scrupulously neat in 
his dress, his polished shoes resting on a rich 
Persian rug. 

Everything about him denoted prosper- 
ity, yet there was something in the expres- 
sion of his eyes and the firmly compressed 
lips that betokened a troubled spirit. He 
was lost in thought, in vain regrets that be- 
long to the present and the past, but have no 
connection with the morrow; that might 
bring death in its train — yes, suicide, death ! 
There seems no other way of escaping the 
impending ruin that is so surely before him. 

There is a gentle rap at the door. 

Entrez said the Count, starting sud- 
denly. 


8i 


©uirDa 


A servant entered with a card on a silver 
salver. The Count glanced at it. A frown 
passed over his features, as he read the name 
of one of the members of his club, to whom 
he had lost so heavily at ecarte the night be- 
fore. Being unable to pay his losses, he had 
given his note, payable at sight. His des- 
perate condition flashed upon his tortured 
brain. If this debt of honor was not paid at 
once he would be afflche at the club, and all 
his wretchedness would be known. A 
thought comes to him — he would give this 
fellow a check, and commit suicide before the 
discovery of its worthlessness. Turning to 
the servant, he said : 

“ Show the gentleman in.*' 

“ Bon jour, mon ami ; bon jour !’* exclaimed 
the Baron Steinberg on entering the room. 
‘‘ I am delighted to find you disengaged, as I 
have called on a little business. Let me 
assure you I will not detain you five min- 
utes.’' 

The Count gave a chair to his visitor, re- 
marking that he was quite at his service as 
long as it pleased him to remain. 

^‘Thanks; thanks, my dear fellow! You 

82 


IRegtlbino a Coronet 

are always the true Frenchman. You under- 
stand how to place people quite at their 
ease ; but it’s only the matter of a moment, 
the merest trifle. Will you do me the favor 
to give me a check for cette petite somme ?” 
taking a note from his pocket. 

Certainly, with the greatest of pleasure. 
I am most happy to be able to do so.” 

Without the slightest hesitation the Count 
wrote a check for the amount, which he 
handed to the Baron, who, with the most 
business-like importance, returned the note 
of honor, little knowing that the check he 
had received was as worthless as the paper 
on which it was written. 

'‘Thanks,” said the Baron, and, seeing 
that his host, for some reason, was not in- 
clined to be sociable, he arose, and, pleading 
an important engagement, said “ Au revoir,” 
and went away. 

After his visitor’s departure the Count sat 
for a long time in deep thought. He knew 
that the Baron would soon ascertain the true 
value of the check he had given him. What 
matter ! The end was drawing nearer and 
nearer ; his obligations had assumed colossal 
83 


©uirba 


proportions, and there was no way of extri- 
cating himself. As if in answer to his mental 
questioning, again there was a rap on the 
door and again the servant presented a card. 
This time the Count looked with interest, not 
unmixed with surprise, at the name engraved 
thereon, Madame Montfort.’^ 

'' Show Madame in,’' he said to the valet, 
rising from his chair. 

A handsomely-dressed, middle-aged lady 
entered. 

Bon jour. Monsieur,” she said, cheerily. 
‘T fancied you wished to see me. I have 
called sans ceremonie. Is it not so. Mon- 
sieur?” 

Placing a chair before the open fire the 
Count expressed his pleasure at the call. He 
knew that Madame Montfort was one of 
those exceedingly comme il faut personages 
that one meets with in society ; one who had 
the entre^ to all the aristocratic homes, and 
was to be met with wherever the beau-monde 
was represented. 

The lady glanced around the splendidly- 
appointed room, then looked at the Count, 
the last of his race and bearer of a proud 
84 


IRcQilMng a Coronet 

old name. She knew all ; knew that only a 
brief space of time lay between the present 
and impending ruin. She had come to save 
this fine old mansion from being sacrificed, 
and also to save this last scion of an ancient 
family — provided he would accept her terms 
and conditions. She had little doubt of his 
listening to and finally accepting the propo- 
sition she intended to make. She was aware 
of all his misfortunes, and had well chosen 
her time to insure success. Turning to the 
Count she spoke in a very gentle voice, 
emphasizing her remarks with a smile. 

‘‘Well, Monsieur, I come to you as a 
friend. I have been told of your troubles. 
Do not think I am a spy, as my only wish is 
to be of use to you. I know to what straits 
you are reduced, and I know your despera- 
tion. Once more. Monsieur, pardon me for 
intruding upon you. I assure you that only 
sympathy and a desire to help you inspired 
me to approach you.’' 

The Count listened attentively and did not 
interrupt her. His curiosity was aroused, 
and he wondered by what means she had be- 
come possessed of these details, and what 
8 $ 


®uir&a 


friend of his at the club had betrayed him. 
He arose and walked back and forth for a 
moment trying to compose and arrange his 
thoughts. 

Madame Montfort concluded not to defer 
her proposition longer but to speak at once. 

‘‘You are a good actor, Monsieur le 
Comte, but you cannot deceive me. Listen ! 
You can have a grand future if you desire. I 
know your past life, and I am familiar with 
the details of your present embarrassment. 
I divine the desperate intent lurking in your 
thoughts at this very moment.’* She stopped, 
then asked, almost in a whisper, “Would 
you have any objection to marriage?” 

“ Good heavens, Madame ; you say you 
know all my present difficulties, and yet 
you ask me such a question. Who would 
have me — some poor girl that I could not 
even feed ?” 

“No, a very pretty girl, very rich, splen- 
didly connected, who will at once put you in a 
position to attain all you may desire, free you 
from all your liabilities, and reinstate you in 
your former prestige.” 

“Vraiment, Madame! How shall this be 
86 


IRegUbing a Coronet 

accomplished, and what are the terms he 
asked, lowering his voice. 

“Fifty thousand francs to me on your 
wedding-day and the same amount in three 
months’ time.” 

She continued to talk, but the Count was 
not listening. He was thinking. Had he 
not resolved to sell his soul to the devil only 
a few moments before ? Providence had in- 
tervened; there was another way out — the 
purchaser might not be the devil, and even if 
it proves so, he was no worse off — he was to 
give his grand name and title, but be paid for 
it in exchange. 

He looked about the superb room, so full 
of reminders of the past greatness of his 
family ; then he thought of the multitude of 
obligations that were threatening him on 
every side, and of the only release, suicide ! 
But now another chance of life was offered 
to him. He could once more set his foot on 
the world that had ruined him, and had 
driven him to such desperation. 

He turned to Madame Montfort and asked 
for a clearer explanation. She again re- 
peated : 


87 


®ulr&a 


“Fifty thousand francs down, and the 
same amount in three months* time, to be 
paid out of your wife*s dowry/* 

He listened attentively to all she had to 
say, and as he did not object to or haggle 
about the terms the lady became enthusias- 
tically expansive. 

“Listen,** she continued. “I thought of 
you and have already talked in your favor 
to the young lady. I know she would 
like a title; all young girls do. I could 
have found any number of titled gentle- 
men, but I preferred you. You are a beau 
gargon ; it will appear more romantic. 
And then I like you. You have tact and 
good sense, and you will succeed. And 
you must not forget me. Remember, I 
am devoted to you and to your future hap- 
piness.’* 

So far no name had been mentioned. The 
Count now inquired the lady’s name. 
Madame Montfort arose. 

“ Pardonnez-moi, Monsieur !” she said, 
handing him a document. “ After this con- 
tract is signed.” 

The Count took the paper from her hand, 

83 


IRcQilbing a Coronet 

glanced carefully over its contents, and re- 
marked : 

“ I see you have not forgotten anything/’ 

After a moment’s hesitation and reflection, 
he said slowly : 

“I accept the conditions, and will sign 
your contract/’ 

‘‘Tr^s bien ! Count, you are wise, and I 
will now tell you how fortunate you are. The 
young lady in question is Miss Ouirda Win- 
ston, la belle Americaine.” 

Madame Montfort arose, and extended 
her hand for the contract which the Count 
had signed. 

“ Au revoir,” she said, and withdrew, leav- 
ing on the table beside him an envelope con- 
taining ten one-thousand-franc notes, together 
with a few lines saying that it was an ad- 
vance which she herself made to defray pre- 
liminary expenses and relieve his present 
embarrassments ; please to accept it, and they 
could arrange this trifle afterward. 

When the Count realized that he was 
again alone, and that the last hour had not 
been a dream, he walked slowly to one of 
the windows, pushed aside the heavy draper- 
89 


©uirba 


ies and looked out. Night had approached, 
and in the darkness little was to be seen but 
black masses of shadows cast by the trees. 
Musing to himself, he said: 

“ So ! It is that fair Miss Winston, that 
tall, graceful girl that walks with such a 
queenly step ; the protegee of that proud, 
aristocratic Marquise de Verville ; that beau- 
tiful American girl who has turned the heads 
and won the hearts of half the young men 
in Paris. Well, she or some other, what 
matters it? The girl was a small part of 
the bargain.’' 

Then he raised his eyes from the shadows 
of the trees upon the ground, raised them 
higher, and looked upon Paris. His beloved 
Paris, stretching away from him in the gloom, 
upon the quays, upon the streets thronged 
with life and brilliantly illuminated by the 
millions of flickering gas-lights. What a 
change there was in his feelings since the 
sun had shone on this same scene ! His 
heart was full of triumph. No more despair, 
no suicide ; only life and pleasure. Speak- 
ing his thoughts, he said aloud : 

“ Mon cher Paris ! Once more you shall be 
90 


IRegil&ina a Coronet 

mine ! I shall keep all — my home, carriages, 
servants, estates, friends, women, jewels, 
flowers — all will be mine. You will live 
again, mon vieux!’^ 


CHAPTER VII. 


THE MAGNOLIAS AT ROYALLIEU 

“ Beneath those glorious trees, 

Where deep among the unsunned leaves 
The large white flower-cups hung.” 


T is the fashionable hour for 
driving. The Champs-Ely- 
sees and the Avenue du Bois 
de Boulogne are thronged 
with superb equipages, all 
moving at the slow pace 
that Parisians delight in, 
when out for show or 
pleasure. This moderate pace gives one 
time to admire the exquisite toilettes, as well 
as for the interchange of friendly greetings. 

The Marquise de Verville is out in her 
victoria, with Miss Winston seated by her 
side. They are enjoying their promenade 
en voiture to the utmost, and they attract 
a large share of attention. 

Miss Winston, as usual, is spotlessly 



Z\)c fmaonoUae at 1Roi?aIHeu 

dressed in some pale, cool-looking fabric, 
untouched by color of any sort, and is look- 
ing unusually lovely. Her large, expressive 
eyes, blue as a Russian violet, harmonize 
exquisitely with her wide-brimmed white 
hat. 

A coachman whirls his whip in a circle in 
the air, which, in this crowded drive, is a 
signal that he is to stop. You will see whip 
after whip whirled in this manner by coach- 
men, one after another, all down the long 
line of carriages. The first one stops, and 
the next one following, and so on. When 
the first carriage starts they all move on 
again in the same regular way, until another 
stoppage is indicated by the whirl of the 
whips in the air. 

While they are waiting the Marquise 
leaned forward and directed the coachman 
to turn aside into a green, shady lane that 
was immediately in front of them. They 
drove slowly a short distance and stopped. 
The Marquise, with a smile, returned the 
salutation of a gentleman who approached. 
It was the Count de Sarzeau. He came 
leisurely up to the side of the carriage, 
93 


©uirba 


greeted the Marquise, then glanced past her 
to accept with pleasure the slow bow and 
faint smile that Miss Winston bestowed upon 
him, saying : 

“I am delighted to see you. Such a 
chance in this crush of carriages !” 

They chat pleasantly for a few moments 
on various subjects, the Marquise reminding 
him that it is their evening at home. Many 
other acquaintances are biding their time for 
a word or a salutation from the young 
beauty and belle of the season. Pleasure is 
expressed in the faces of all her friends at 
meeting her, for Miss Winston has achieved 
the rare distinction of being liked by the 
ladies as much as she is admired by the gen- 
tlemen. 

They join the procession of carriages 
again and continue their drive. Hundreds 
of hats are raised to them as they wind their 
way up the Avenue des Acacias and return 
home by way of the lakes. 

The Marquise de Verville has a rare tact in 
entertaining, which is the charm of a success- 
ful hostess. Her evenings at home were at- 
tended by brilliant men of letters, heroes of 

94 


tCbe nnagnoUae at IRoi^alUeu 

victorious battlefields, statesmen of splendid 
talents, courtiers of elegant address, that 
make up the genius and chivalry of France ; 
and by women of rare wit and conversa- 
tional powers, of beauty, of intelligence, and 
other fascinating qualities, that combine to 
make the successful woman of the social 
world. 

During the evening the Count de Sar- 
zeau entertained Miss Winston with a de- 
scription of a village fete held annually near 
his home, at “ Royallieu.’' He was an elo- 
quent talker, when he chose to exert himself, 
and his listener seemed to be much inter- 
ested. Many envious glances were cast 
toward them by the would-be suitors and the 
neglected young damsels, who were all more 
or less susceptible to the manly graces of the 
Count. 

There was a hush in the murmur of con- 
versation as it was announced that II Signor 
della Rocca and La Signora Bartello would 
favor them with ‘'The Donjon Scene'' from 
“II Trovatore." It was well sung, and Ouirda, 
being a fine musician, thoroughly enjoyed it. 

When the tenor's voice rang out with 
95 


©uirba 


thrilling pathos, '' Non ti scordar di me !” she 
looked up and met the handsome dark eyes 
of the Count fixed upon her, and her heart 
fluttered with the consciousness of the full 
meaning of the words, Do not forget me !” 

The Count did not call on the morrow — 
perhaps he guessed he would be wished for, 
and remained away to let the wish grow 
stronger — but a day or two later he could not 
resist the inclination to see the sweet face of 
Miss Winston. 

Every morning he had sent her magnifi- 
cent flowers, white roses and purple violets, 
her favorite flowers, to indicate that his 
thoughts were with her. 

On the third day of his absence he pre- 
sented himself at the Hotel de Verville. 
Entering the salon he was cordially greeted 
by the Marquise, and gratified by seeing 
Miss Winston bending over the flowers he 
had sent that morning. She blushingly re- 
turned his salutation, and thanked him in a 
few well-chosen words for the flowers, which 
were unusually beautiful. 

The Count took his welcome very quietly, 
and the ladies could not help observing how 

96 


Z\)c flDagnoIiaa at IRo^alUeu 

well and cheerful he was looking. He was 
always careful about his personal appearance, 
but to-day he had an air of being particularly 
well-dressed, and was even young and fresh- 
looking, which was not usual with him. 

Since Mademoiselle is so fond of flowers, 
I hope to have the honor and pleasure of 
showing her the magnolias at the Chateau de 
Royallieu. Even strangers come from a dis- 
tance to see them, and just now they are in 
full perfection. Will not Madame la Mar- 
quise do me the honor to select a day when 
she will invite a party of friends to come and 
take luncheon with me at my old home and 
inspect these floral triumphs ?” 

The Marquise looked earnestly at Ouirda, 
as if trying to discover what her wishes were 
regarding this proposition. Seeing a flush 
of pleasure pass over her face, she knew that 
it would be agreeable, and at the same time 
she experienced a pang of fear that her fav- 
orite was becoming interested in this agree- 
able visitor, who was so assiduous in his 
attentions. Hiding her disappointment with 
a veil of cordiality she thanked the Count 
for his invitation, and said she would think 


97 


®uir&a 

favorably of it and inform him of her de- 
cision. 

The Count did not seem to notice her 
hesitation. He selected a lovely white rose 
from among Ouirda’s flowers, placed it care- 
fully in the lapel of his coat, as he said : 

“I shall ask Mademoiselle to plead my 
cause. She will be on the side of the mag- 
nolias, I am sure ; one white flower sym- 
pathizes with another.’' 

When he had gone the Marquise com- 
mented : 

'' How very poetical the Count is !” 

Ouirda did not hear these words, she was 
listening to his retreating footsteps. 

The Count’s invitation to luncheon at his 
ancestral home had only to reach the ears of 
the Princess de Salande to be rapturously ap- 
proved of and accepted at once. 

Arrangements were made for the occasion, 
and some days later a gay party took a train 
from the Gare de Nord for the Chateau de 
Royallieu. 

The Count had gone there as soon as he 
was informed that his impromptu invitation 
had been accepted and the date decided upon. 

98 


Zl)c flDagnoUa^ at IRoijalUeu 

On the morning of the day appointed for 
the luncheon the chateau was in readiness 
for the expected guests, and carriages were 
awaiting them at the picturesque little rail- 
way station. 

Built upon a slight elevation, mediaeval in 
style of architecture and grandeur, the 
Chateau de Royallieu smiled down upon the 
fertile valleys below, upon the wide, undu- 
lating park and winding river. 

In the distance, half-hidden by the spread- 
ing foliage, lay the village of Loat-Mars- 
lan. Upon the loftiest tower of the chateau 
the flag of France waved gently in the 
breeze. 

When the carriages arrived, the Count wel- 
comed his guests with formality and placed 
his castle at their disposition. 

The day was superb, and as the guests 
walked about the grounds, many were the 
exclamations of pleasure over its varied at- 
tractions. 

The Count was especially attentive to 
Miss Winston, and he felt a secret triumph 
at seeing the shy delight in her eyes as 
she gazed upon the pride of the park — the 
99 


LufC. 


®uit&a 


double row of magnolia trees on the south 
side of the chateau — all in full bloom. 

Ouirda certainly enjoyed her first visit to 
the ancient home of the Count de Sarzeau. 
At the luncheon she sat by the side of her 
almost brother, the Marquis Gaston de Ver- 
ville. She was usually so affable and enter- 
taining, and enjoyed a happy party at table, 
but to-day she ate but little and talked 
less. Gaston was quick to observe an air of 
contented pleasure in the easy manner in 
which she sat at the luxuriously-spread table. 
Dessert had been served, and the fruit 
and ices gave color and light to the gay 
scene. 

A buzz of conversation filled the room, 
some of the chairs were pushed slightly 
away from the table, and all the guests were 
cheerful and happy. 

Gaston endeavored to chat with Ouirda, 
but she was more interested in looking about 
her. Noting this, he called her attention, in 
a quiet way, to the wonderfully cut glass, the 
massive family silver — each piece displaying 
the arms of the de Sarzeau family — and the 
antique ornaments on the high mantel over 
xoo 


^be fifiasnoUae at IRoi^alHeu 

the open fire-place, now filled with an im- 
mense jardiniere of wood-ferns. 

From the deep-set windows a splendid 
view was to be had of the park, and far away 
a sun-sparkled lake was visible through the 
trees. Gaston, with praiseworthy generosity, 
pointed out the several attractive views to 
her admiring eyes. 

The Count smiled with satisfaction to him- 
self at the thought that he had merely to 
bide his time, and this fair American girl, 
whom the Princess had chosen for him, would 
bow her graceful head to his sceptre, and ac- 
cept the position of chatelaine of his superb 
demeure. He had no fear of a rival in the 
Marquis de Verville, or any other of the 
many admirers who worshipped at the shrine 
of this queen of beauty. He was well- versed 
in the art of winning young hearts, and was 
sure of his ultimate conquest. 

“ An inspiration, this luncheon-party \’* 
whispered the Princess to the Count as they 
were walking about the grounds apres le 
cafe, previous to their starting on their re- 
turn to Paris. 

“Yes, Princess, and you have aided me in 


®utr&a 

many ways to insure its success, for which 
I thank you/' 

It was a good card to play in our 
matrimonial game, mon cher Count ; but 
don't defer your intentions too long after 
this success." 


102 


CHAPTER VIII. 


IN PARADISE 


** For oh ! So wildly as I love him, 
That paradise itself were dim 
And joyless, if not shared by him.’’ 


HE Count's attentions now 
made up an important part 
of Ouirda's life. She looked 
forward to his coming with 
frank pleasure, and met 
him with a shy, sweet 
smile. 

He was keenly observant 
of how favorably affairs were progressing, 
and began to think sufficient time had been 
given to preliminaries, however pleasant 
they might be, and began to grow impatient 
at the delay of the much-desired completion 
of the matrimonial plan. 

The opportunity soon presented itself. 
One beautiful September evening, when the 
103 



©uir&a 


red glow of the western sunset filled the sky, 
Ouirda stood in the garden under the shade 
of the tall trees watching the evening light. 
It was here that the Count found her. She 
gave a little start, half of surprise, half of 
pleasure, at meeting him. He bowed low, 
and taking her hand, said, in a tender voice ; 

'H have been watching you for some mo- 
ments ; will you please tell me of what you 
were thinking? You seemed so absorbed, so 
far away in your thoughts, I was almost jeal- 
ous of the sky, the trees, and everything else 
that your beautiful eyes rested upon.” 

Ouirda did not reply, but a questioning 
look into his earnest face gleamed from 
under her drooping eyelids. They walked 
along the shaded pathway under the over- 
hanging trees, and stopped to listen to the 
songs of the birds as they flitted joyously 
from bough to bough. 

This evening the Count de Sarzeau had 
come to know his fate. He took Ouirda's 
hands in both his own, and pressing them 
against his heart, pleaded in earnest tones : 

Ouirda, dear Ouirda, I love you ! I love 
you ! With my whole soul, I love you ! Can 




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Hn ipara&iee 

you love me, dear ? I offer you the devotion 
of my life. I am neither as good nor pure 
as you are. I am not worthy, as no man is, 
to stand beside so fair a creature as you are ! 
But I love you ! I will love you all my life. 
Say that you care for me — that you will be 
my wife !” 

Ouirda was silent, tears came to her eyes in 
this moment of supreme happiness — so great 
as to be almost painful. She did not know 
that over her bowed head her lover s face 
looked pale with the fear of uncertainty, and 
his dark eyes had an expression of intense 
anxiety in their depths that might have 
startled her if seen. She felt the wild beat- 
ing of his heart, and the thrill in his hands 
that clasped hers. She wavered a little, then 
tremulously said : 

I do care for you.'' 

He lifted her hands to his lips and kissed 
them with impassioned tenderness. 

“ And you will be my wife, my Ouirda, my 
dear, idolized wife ?" 

Oh ! Monsieur, " 

He interrupted her, saying : 

'‘Won't you please call me Raoul?" 

105 


©uir&a 


‘‘ Raoul, I do love you, and I trust you/* 

“ And you are not afraid to give yourself 
to me ?’* 

**No, I am not afraid. I love you too 
dearly to be frightened.’* 

He touched his lips gently to her brow, 
and said with well-feigned emotion : 

Darling ! you have made me extremely 
happy, and I will devote my whole life to 
you. I will guard you from every care, and 
your most blissful dreams shall be realized. 
How soon shall it be, dear, our wedding-day? 
I am so impatient to call you all my own.’* 
“Why, Raoul, dear, you have only just 
found out that you love me !’* 

“You are wrong, chere ange, in saying 
that. I found it out long ago. Won’t you 
tell me when it shall be ; you surely can trust 
me ?” 

“ I do. I must trust you always/* 

“ This is September. Shall we say Octo- 
ber?’* 

She looked into his pleading eyes, and 
placing her hands in his, said, simply : 

“Yes; whenever you wish,*’ 

For one moment they gazed into the 

ic6 


Hn paraMee 

depths of each other’s eyes, then he gath- 
ered her gently to his heart, and pressed a 
long, impassioned kiss upon her lips, and 
whispered : 

“ My own, my dearest wife !” 

Ouirda raised her head from his breast, 
and said : 

‘‘Raoul, you have never asked me any- 
thing about my family or my fortune.” 

“Your guardian. Doctor Campbell, ex- 
plained to me all I wished to know when he 
permitted me to address you. He was your 
respected father’s most intimate friend, he 
told me ; and as for your fortune, do not 
speak of it ; I care nothing about it. It is 
your own sweet self that I worship, and I 
wish you to be queen of all I possess, as you 
are already queen of my love. Look up, 
dear, let me see the love in your sweet face.” 

Ouirda’s eyes remained veiled with their 
long lashes ; she was deliciously happy. She 
loved, and she was so sure of her future 
happiness with this handsome impassioned 
lover. The very consciousness of this feel- 
ing prevented her from saying the words he 
most wished to hear. 


107 


©uir&a 


He continued : 

'‘Tell me, sweetheart, of what you were 
thinking when I came and surprised you 

“ Oh ! Must you know even my thoughts ? 
Well I was thinking — thinking of nothing — 
nothing — but you?’* she answered, blush- 
ingly. 

❖ Hs Hs * 

As the shadows of evening lengthened he 
offered her his arm with courtly grace, and 
they returned to the house. Leading Ouirda 
up to the Marquise, he proudly said : 

“ Congratulate me, chere Marquise. Miss 
Winston has consented to become my wife, 
and with your kind permission we wish our 
marriage to take place the twentieth of 
October.” 

The Marquise looked into the happy face 
of Ouirda and read the confirmation of the 
Count’s expressed wishes, and putting her 
arms around her she embraced her warmly, 
saying : 

“You have my best wishes for your hap- 
piness, cher enfant.” 

loS 


fln para&t0e 

The Count soon after took his departure, 
asking permission to call in the morning.’' 

Come whenever you wish, dear Count, 
you will always be welcome,” said the Mar- 
quise. 

He bowed his thanks, pressed the hand of 
his fiancee to his lips, and said “ Au revoir.” 

The Count was wonderfully elated over 
the success of his wooing. The beautiful 
girl had surely captured his fancy, and he 
half-imagined he was desperately in love 
himself. He realized the fact that for months 
he had been bound hand and foot in the fet- 
ters of need, and now he saw a way by 
which these fetters should drop away from 
him, like thistle-down before the wind. He 
put aside all thoughts of and consideration 
for the devoted Russian girl, Vera Paltovitch. 
He forgot all his vows, and ignored the re- 
membrance of all the sacrifices she had made 
for him when he was sorely pressed by his 
creditors. He thought only of Ouirda. 

Arriving at his home he dispatched a brief 
note to the Princess, telling her of the suc- 
cess he had met with, and suggested that 
she should be the one to give the news to 


®uirl)a 


the world through her husband at the clubs 
and her friends socially. 

The following day the Paris newspapers 
announced in their respective editions : 

‘‘A marriage in the beau-monde. The 
Count Raoul de Sarzeau, who is the last to 
bear the name of this illustrious family, is 
affianced to the beautiful and accomplished 
Miss Ouirda Homer Winston, of New York 
City. The marriage will take place during 
the month of October.'' 

Ouirda, after her lover's departure, bids 
the Marquise an affectionate good-night, and 
retires to the seclusion of her rooms. Dis- 
missing her maid, Donalie, as soon as pos- 
sible, she gives herself up to happy reveries. 
She is essentially human, and she feels a 
wicked little flutter of gratified vanity as she 
reflects that her lover, added to his charm- 
ing personality, is from an ancient and honor- 
able family — the last of a long line of noble- 
men whose names have shown brightly 
among those most honored by their beloved 
France ; that he has selected her to be his 
wife ; that he loves her devotedly. And she, 
oh ! how dearly she loves him ! How little 


no 


IFn iParabFae 

she dreamed of all the passion that had been 
sleeping in her heart, and the waking startles 
her. The crown and glory of her woman- 
hood has come to her, and she rejoices in 
this new and perfect happiness. He is such 
a chivalrous lover ! He loves her so dearly. 
No one could ever have been so dearly loved 
before. Then comes the thought of Gaston. 
How will be feel ? What will he say when 
she tells him all her hopes of the future ? He 
has been so kind to her, accepting without a 
reproach the place she offered him in her af- 
fections. He is brave, true, and good. And 
Jeanne ! Dear, far-away Jeanne. She will 
rejoice that her friend is happy. Thinking 
of this new and all-absorbing love, she falls 
asleep. 

The days pass like a dream. The Count 
comes daily, and always brings with him 
some offering that will give Ouirda pleasure. 
One day his gifts will be a hamper of gilded 
wicker-work, wreathed in violets and packed 
close with her adored Marrons glaces, or 
a fancifully-designed osier gondola full of 
roses, and a necklace of pearls hidden in 
their fragrant depths ; all that could charm 


III 


©uir&a 

was sought to show that he only lived to 
make her happy. 

❖ * Hi 

Tempus omnia revelat. 


112 


CHAPTER IX. 


THE JOCKEY CLUB 


Avec I’absinthe, avec le feu 
On pent se devertir un peu.’* 


TALL, fashionably - dressed 
gentleman, with silk hat 
and carefully - waxed mus- 
tache, alighted from a cab in 
front of the Grand Hotel : 
everything in his personal 
appearance gave evidence 
of a Monsieur bien soigne. 
He paused for a moment, then sauntered 
slowly down the Boulevard des Capucines 
and turned into the Rue Scribe, entering the 
porte coch^re of the well-known and aristo- 
cratic '‘Jockey Club.’' He was conjecturing 
in his mind whether a certain member of the 
club from whom he had recently won heavily 
at ^carte would honor a billet of considerable 



©uir&a 


importance that he had given him to liquidate 
the debt, and which was now due. 

He walked slowly up the broad staircase 
that led to this exclusive circle ; a valet took 
his hat and cane ; entering one of the loung- 
ing rooms, he seated himself to look over 
the daily papers. He had scarcely unfolded 
one of them, when a familiar voice addressed 
him. 

‘‘Bon jour, Gontran ! Have you read 
the Figaro this morning?’' 

“Why don’t you ask me if I have read my 
Bible?” 

“ Oh, ho ! Gontran, you are in a joking 
mood, I see ; but I am serious, regardez ga 
un peu,” said his friend, Le Baron de Lande, 
as he handed him the Figaro, 

A slight frown passed over Gontran’s face 
as he read the article indicated. 

“ On annonce le manage du Comte Raoul 
de Sarzeau avec Miss Ouirda Homer Win- 
ston, la richissime Americaine de New York, 
fille de H. Pierrpont Winston. Le manage 
sera celebr6 dans le courant du mois pro- 
chain.” 

“ Mordieu ! This is the reason why we 


Zhc Socftci? dlub 

have not seen him at the club of late,” said 
Gontran. 

It is said that he had about reached the 
end of his resources — in short, that he was 
decave, and that he borrowed too much from 
le Pere Frangois, and did not dare come to 
the club until he could cancel his obligation,’' 
replied the Baron. 

Gontran yawned a little, and said in a care- 
less manner : 

“He is a lucky dog; he has captured a 
beautiful girl, one that he can be proud of 
with or without her dollars Americains.” 

“ That is all right for you to say, Gontran ; 
you can afford it ; but I am not of your opin- 
ion. The woman I honor with my hand and 
name must have a position and fortune equal 
to my own, or I should consider her my in- 
ferior, cher ami. Your ideas may be chiv- 
alric, romantic, and all that sort of thing, but 
they are not practicable. We do not play 
baccarat on romance, and we cannot pay for 
a dinner with sentiment, and you enjoy une 
partie fine as well as anyone.” 

Gontran smiled at his friend’s remarks, 
and asked him in a bantering way : 

”5 


®uir&a 


Why don’t you ask the Princess de Sal- 
ande to present you to one of her heiresses 
— that is, if you know how to make a bar- 
gain. She can help you amazingly. You 
may have to pay her a good round sum for 
her assistance, but you will get a rich wife, 
and that is what you want.” 

The Baron flushed a little at this matter- 
of-fact suggestion, but took it all in good part, 
and answered the practical Gontran : 

Oh, come, now ! you know I would not 
marry a woman I did not love.” 

'T am not so sure of that. Wait until 
you are in as embarrassing a situation as the 
Count was, and then tell me if you would 
not take advice from the Princess, accept 
her conditions, whatever they may be, to get 
a rich wife — an angel with a liberal father, or 
an orphan with a guardian who would not 
tie up the tin too tightly.” 

** A fine argument, Gontran, and well pre- 
sented ; and I promise you that should any 
such unfortunate state of affairs happen to 
me, I will think seriously of your admirably 
expressed plan to extricate myself. I will 
look about in the social world with an anx- 

Ii6 


Z\iz Jocftei? Club 

ious and calculating eye before going into 
the matrimonial business — look until I find 
a damsel with one hundred thousand francs 
a year, and who will allow me to direct the 
expenditures. She must be an heiress who 
has a fortune in her own right, and who will 
not come to my loving arms encumbered 
with burglar-proof money vaults. Now, 
have you not won me over to your way of 
thinking 

‘‘Yes, but you shock me, and I really be- 
lieve that your indignant protestations a while 
ago were all a farce, and that now, cher Baron, 
you are telling the truth. Come, let's go 
into the billiard-room for a little exercise." 

In another room the Count de Sarzeau 
was receiving the congratulations of his 
friends on his prospective marriage. He 
bore his honors bravely, and his whole man- 
ner was expressive of gratified ambition. 
His handsome face was aglow with pride and 
satisfaction, and his replies were affability 
itself. 

“Well, mon cher Comte, you were more 
successful than I was with the fair Miss 
Winston. I paid assiduous court to her for 
117 


®uir&a 


weeks until I saw there was no hope for me, 
and I am generous enough to wish you all 
happiness with your American bride,” said 
Monsieur Armand de Bossier, who was 
called the Apollo Belvidere of the club, for 
his handsome face and figure. He was a 
scion of an old family. His income, which 
was limited, he augmented in various ways, 
such as games of chance and bets at the 
races, in which he was usually successful. 

He was joined at this moment by a new 
arrival, the Baron de Fougere, his most in- 
timate friend, and with whom a unique part- 
nership existed. The Baron had inherited 
an estate in Brittany, called Les Chataigniers, 
from which he derived sufficient means to 
enable him to live at a club in his beloved 
Paris. His admiration for de Bossier was 
not surprising, as they were strikingly op- 
posite in every respect, de Fougere being 
small in stature and not at all prepossessing 
in his appearance. 

The secret of their partnership and in- 
timacy was this : Many times when fickle 
fortune had not smiled upon Armand, and 
his funds were low, his friend was only too 

iiS 


Zhc 3ocftei2 Club 

happy to be his banker; and, in return, 
Armand would obtain for him the entree to 
many exclusive affairs, to which one must be 
suitably presented. 

The two friends turned aside to discuss 
the topics and news of the day, and, among 
the rest, the approaching marriage. 

“The Count is in high feather over his 
fine prospects,” Armand remarked to his 
friend. 

“Why should he be otherwise? He can 
now pay his debts, both at the club and else- 
where. I wonder who is furnishing him with 
the needful now, and at what ruinous rate ?” 

“ Parbleu ! He seems to be well sup- 
plied.” 

“Oh, never bother about that,” said de 
Fougere, “they will be repaid, ten to one, 
you may be sure ; and, pour Tamour de 
Dieu, mon ami, don’t look so blue over the 
loss of la belle Americaine and her fortune. 
You had no chance with her from the first. 
You know that you and the Count are con- 
sidered the two handsomest men in Paris, 
and, moreover, you are the favorite with the 
fair sex ; but Miss Winston wanted a title, as 

119 


©uirfea 


well as a handsome husband, in exchange for 
her sweet self and her fortune, or de Sarzeau 
would never have won her away from you/' 

•'Oh! you are a little prejudiced in my 
favor, but I begin to doubt my fascinating 
powers," gloomily remarked de Bossier. 

“ Come, shake yourself, and brace up ; 
let’s have something to eat and a bottle of 
Pommery." 

Thank you, no, I think my digestion is 
not right. I have no appetite, and I am a 
little low-spirited." 

“ Oh, la, la ! well, that is fine," laughingly 
said de Fougere. “ Digestion out of order ! 
Low-spirited — ^you, the darling of the ladies 
in general, the beau gar9on of the club, the 
boulevardier par excellence, everything in 
your favor ; while I — well — I am only hungry 
and thirsty. You think your heart is empty, 
but I am sure it is only your stomach." 

They go into the restaurant, where de 
Fougere calls a servant. 

“Gargon, bring us a good dinner. Mon- 
sieur de Bossier is famished." 

While they are enjoying the tempting 
viands that a dinner at the Jockey Club in- 


120 


Zbc 3ocfte^ Club 

sures, de Fougere, by his cheery manner and 
ready wit, has succeeded in making Armand 
forget his digestion. While sipping his Pom- 
mery, he says : 

“ Cher Baron, apropos of love and women, 
don’t you think that the Count is hard-hit 
with Miss Winston ? I cannot believe it is 
all cold-blooded, calculating interest ; he has 
been her shadow for some time, and at the 
Princess’s ball he was devotedly attentive, 
and she was well pleased with him. Ah ! 
what a vision of beauty she was that even- 

ing!” _ 

“ Tais-toi, mon vieux ! you are half in love 
with her yet ! The Count may be, as you 
say, hard-hit. I never observed it quite so 
much as I did at that ball. Now I think that 
love in a ballroom is out of date. You must 
adopt my plan, Armand. When I go to a 
ball I leave my heart in the cloak-room with 
my top-coat, umbrella, and hat, and take 
it again when I go.’' 

De Bossier could not help smiling at his 
friend’s droll remarks. 

“ Oh, you do, allons done ! well, I will try 
and be even with you in the future. I will 


I2I 


©lUr&a 


put my heart in my wineglass, and my toast 
shall be, ' Give me old wine instead of young 
girls,' although I don’t imagine that the one 
would prevent the enjoyment of the other, 
or that pure love is chilled by a dowry.” 

Ma foi ! c’est superb 9a, cher Amand, 
you are philosophic with all you talk of love 
in your wineglass, young ladies’ dowries, 
etc. ; but you will always have an eye for an 
heiress, whether she be a sighorita, a miss, 
or a fraulein, and you will fancy yourself in 
love at once.” 

“Assurement, Baron ! in love with the lady, 
possibly, but to a certainty with her fortune.” 

'‘I see you are real as well as ideal, 
Armand. It doubtless would be a very con- 
venient and desirable arrangement ; you and 
the Count de Sarzeau seem to have the same 
sentiments regarding the grandeurs of dow- 
ries that are way up in the massive millions. 
I understand, although I do not exactly share 
it, the perfect love which a millionaire god- 
dess inspires in you. You live only for a wife 
and a purse. Don’t shrug your shoulders, 
nor look so furious ; you know I am right. I 
don’t know as I blame you, only I can’t feel 


122 


Zbc Club 

that way. Go on, mon ami, you will get 
what you desire. You will become a golden 
Louis, a head without a heart, double-chinned, 
decorated, a depute, and — satisfied.'' 

Oh, finissez done ! Baron, you are half 
in the right, and you always get the best of 
me with your sensible Brittany logic. Of 
course, I was not over-pleased with my re- 
fusal and the Count's success. Now, I shall 
have to get my wits together and think out 
some feasible plan to capture la Signorita de 
la Cortes, that religious young Cuban or- 
phan, who has a fortune." 

“ That will not be difficult for you, Armand ; 
you have already made a start in the right 
direction. You have been on your knees at 
mass at the Madeleine now for some time, 
and you say you have already exchanged 
glances. You know the old couplet says : 

“ * When the eyes are won, 

True love has begun.’ ” 

''That is all true, and I would not go to 
mass so constantly for anyone else on earth. 
I feel that I am in the hands of destiny, and 
I must face the candles on the altar a while 


123 


®utrt)a 


longer ; but I shall not waste any more time 
about it than is absolutely necessary. I say, 
Baron, how will the Count dispose of that 
Russian woman, Vera Paltovitch, who has 
been his mistress so long ? They say she is 
a veritable volcano when she is roused. She 
has been very devoted to her handsome 
lover through all his changing fortunes.’^ 

“Oh, 9a, nous-verrons, cette affaire n^est 
pas encore finie ! They say that once she 
sold the jewels that were given to her by 
the Grand Duke to pay the Count’s gam- 
bling debts,” said the Baron. 

“Vraiment! well, he will soon be able to 
replace them. He can purchase whatever 
he wishes when he handles that American 
gold. I wonder how many more of his old 
sweethearts he will have to give up and pen- 
sion off? By the way, I met the little bour- 
geoise flame of his, the little dressmaker 
that lives somewhere in Montmartre. What 
is her name? Nannette something, I forget 
what ; she was at the bal Bullier, blooming 
as a rose, and flirting with her new amant as 
if she had forgotten that the Count de Sar- 
zeau ever existed. Regardez, Baron ! there 

124 


^be Socfte? Club 

comes the Marquis de Verville. I wonder 
how he bears the announcement of the en- 
gagement ? They say he was desperately in 
love with Miss Winston himself, and that 
Madame sa mere was greatly disappointed 
that his passion was not reciprocated. She 
will have to look about and secure another 
rich protegee for le Marquis Gaston to make 
love to.’* 

De Foug^re notes the smile of satisfac- 
tion on Armand’s face as he regards de Ver- 
ville, and thinks to himself — misery likes 
company. 

“Yes, Armand, I think they were a little 
devoted to each other for a while, and had I 
been the one to make the selection of a hus- 
band I would have chosen de Verville. Of 
course, he is not considered a beau gargon 
like the Count, but he is a true gentleman, 
brave as a lion, a stickler for honor and 
morality. His pretty sister. Mademoiselle 
Jeanne, made a sensational debut in securing 
the rich Viscount de Bruil on the first whirl 
of the wheel, and the mother consented to a 
short engagement, a quiet marriage, and off 
they go on their tour de monde.” 

125 


®uir&a 


Cher Baron, that was all entirely comme 
il faut, considering the fact that the Viscount 
was in mourning for a relative who had re- 
cently died and very considerately left him 
another fortune, and, in order to show proper 
respect to the inheritance, he took unto him- 
self a wife, who will go around the world 
with him to keep him from mourning too 
deeply the demise of his uncle. Ha ! ha ! 
ha!” 

The Baron gave his friend de Bossier a 
significant nudge. 

‘'Don't talk too loud. There, standing 
behind you, is that superannuated old fossil, 
General de Kiersabec; you know he is an 
old friend of the de Verville family. I won- 
der what has brought him up to Paris ?” 

“ Perhaps to add a codicil to his last will 
and testament,” facetiously remarked de 
Bossier. 

“They say that de Verville will come in 
for a good share of his ducats, and I hope 
he may.” 

“Where shall we go for a little amuse- 
ment and diversion, Baron ?” 

“Allons — au theatre.” 


126 


CHAPTER X. 


ENCHANTMENT 

“ Que tout le monde soit gai, ch^rie, 

Que tout le monde soit gai, 

Car si tu m’aimes, 

Et si je t* aime, 

On peut faire ce qu’il plait, ch^rie, 

On peut faire ce qu’il plait.” 

Ballade de Bretagne. 


NE bright morning Ouirda 
stood in the midst of a hun- 
dred beautiful things that go 
to make up a trousseau. She 
and the Marquise were en- 
thusiastically inspecting and 
admiring the separate arti- 
cles, finding each one more 
beautiful than the other. The wedding dress 
was a veritable triumph of the most cele- 
brated dressmaker in the world. It was made 
of heavy white satin, draped with cascades of 
Mechlin lace and clusters of orange-blossoms. 
The veil was of the same exquisite lace, fine 
127 



©uir&a 


and flimsy in its delicate texture. They 
looked over the jewels that had been sent 
to the bride-elect from hundreds of friends, 
all anxious to show their regard for, and also 
to insure a favorable recognition from, the 
future Countess de Sarzeau. 

The devoted lover had that morning sent 
Ouirda a casket containing some of the 
family jewels, among them a superb tiara 
of diamonds and pearls — a crown that had 
been worn by the brides of the Counts de 
Sarzeau on their marriage-day for genera- 
tions. The casket contained also a prettily- 
worded request from the Count that Miss 
Winston would conform to the ancient cus- 
tom, and honor him by wearing the crown on 
her wedding-day. She could consult her own 
pleasure about wearing the other jewels ; 
they were hers, and never had been con- 
ferred on a fairer bride. 

The Marquise shook the fairy-like folds of 
the long bridal veil, and placed the jewelled 
crown upon it. A warm flush came over the 
happy face of Ouirda as she admired its 
beauty. 

After the noon dejeuner, Ouirda is awaiting 

128 


jEncbantment 


a call from her guardian, Doctor Campbell 
Her thoughts constantly dwell upon her lover 
and her coming marriage. Her love is so 
much more to her than all these wonders of 
the modiste’s art, jewels, and the multitude 
of other beautiful gifts. All were costly and 
rare, but her love and her lover were pre- 
eminent. 

Since the announcement of her engage- 
ment she has been the recipient of marked 
attention from the ladies of the grand-monde, 
especially the select circle of the Princess de 
Salande. They know that her immense 
wealth will enable the Count to entertain his 
friends at his superb hotel in the Faubourg 
Saint Germain, and that the chateau at Roy- 
allieu will again be the scene of gaieties that 
delight the pleasure-loving Parisians. She 
feels a pardonable pride and pleasure at the 
prospect of being a Countess and of holding 
the position of a grande dame dans la haute 
societe Parisienne. 

Doctor Campbell, her guardian, is an- 
nounced. 

He had requested this interview, as he 
wished to talk with his ward regarding her 
9 129 


®uir&a 


future. When the Count de Sarzeau called 
upon him and requested his permission to 
pay his addresses to Miss Winston, he had 
made no objections, thinking that at an early 
day he would inform himself of all particu- 
lars regarding the Count, his family, his posi- 
tion, habits, antecedents, and his general 
status at the present time. 

Great was his astonishment when he was 
informed that his ward had been wooed and 
won without his knowledge, and was re- 
quested by the happy lovers to give his ap- 
proval to the appointed wedding-day. 

After greeting his ward, of whom he had 
always been exceedingly fond, he said to 
her : 

My dear Ouirda, tell me all you wish to 
say about your handsome lover. I hear much 
of him nowadays.” 

“ I hope that you do not believe anything 
that is not good of him. He is so noble, so 
charming, he pleases me so well, and — I love 
him.” 

“And you don’t think he could be im- 
proved upon in any respect — that he is a 
paragon of goodness, entirely without faults ?” 

130 


Encbantment 


‘‘ He may have faults. Who has not? But 
surely he is noble, and his family has always 
been considered one of the best in France.’' 

“Yes, I know. He is a Count, his title is 
ancient, and his ancestors date from the 
Crusaders, when they were noted for their 
honesty and bravery.” 

“ Dear guardian, I am satisfied.” 

“ I want you to look at this little clipping 
from the London Punchy which some friend 
has sent me.” The Doctor reads : “ ‘ Beauty 
and goodness may fade, but a title lasts.’ 
Well, Miss Ouirda, you now possess beauty 
and goodness, and you will soon be a count- 
ess, so you will have all three. I congratu- 
late you.” 

“I do not know that I am averse to a 
title, and I am aware that all sorts of re- 
marks, both kind and unkind, will be made 
because I am an American.” 

“Dear child, I am proud that you are an 
American from the ‘ land of the free and the 
home of the brave.’ ” 

“ So am I, dear guardian. Oh ! do you 
know that a lady friend of mine told me yes- 
terday that all well-bred American girls con- 


®uir&a 


sider themselves the equals of queens, and 
that at home they usually choose their own 
husbands. If this be so I am proud of my 
choice, and I have a perfect right to marry 
into the nobility.” 

The Doctor laughed heartily. 

‘‘Your lady friend was more than half- 
right when she said that our young ladies 
at home think themselves the equal of 
queens,” said the Doctor. “What a sen- 
sation one of the most beautiful of our 
popular American actresses made during her 
first London engagement, when she declined 
the honor of being presented to His Royal 
Highness the Prince of Wales ; and, also, 
when the same honor was respectfully de- 
clined, with thanks, by the daughter of one 
of Boston’s bluest Puritan families, who was 
a noted beauty and society belle. The lovely 
and popular actress belonged to a proud 
and aristocratic family in Kentucky.” 

“ I suppose the entire London world was 
shocked over this independence of my coun- 
trywomen ?” 

“Yes, but it is said that His Royal High- 
ness rather enjoyed the novelty of it, as it 
132 


jencbantment 


was so unusual and original. Tell me, 
Ouirda, seriously now, are you very sure 
you love this handsome, debonair Count? 
That you have perfect confidence in him, and 
feel that your union with him will insure 
your future happiness ? You know that some 
of the wise ones say that ‘marriage is the 
grave of love.’ ” 

“I am sure I don’t wish to bury my love, 
and I do not think I shall.” 

'‘You are all alike, you young people; 
you think the world will be reversed in your 
especial case.” 

“ No, indeed ! I do not wish or expect to 
change anything. I admit that, naturally, I 
am a little enchanted with the prospect of a 
change of scene in this beautiful world that 
has so far given me only pleasure and happi- 
ness. While I was at the convent I used to 
dream of gaieties and splendors. I so longed 
to hear operas, go to balls, to drive in the 
Bois, and for all sorts of pleasures that one 
reads and hears of. Many of these pleasures 
I have realized and delighted in, and now — 
I am to be married, and I am very happy.” 

“ Ma chere Ouirda, I am an old bachelor, 


©uir&a 


and cannot be entirely in sympathy with your 
enthusiasm, and I find myself looking beyond 
the present. I could give you volumes of 
advice, but will not weary you by so doing. 
I only wish for your future happiness. And 
now I must leave you, my prospective Count- 
ess, and when the Count comes to me to- 
morrow I shall congratulate him.’* 

Must you go, so soon ? Can’t you spare 
the time to see some of my pretty dresses, 
my dainty boots and gloves, and such quan- 
tities of other trifles, and the beautiful 
jewels and other gifts that my friends have 
sent to me ? Then, there are dozens of fairy- 
like structures of lace and flowers, called hats 
and bonnets, which will adorn my stately 
figure and golden-crowned head — as the re- 
porters will say of me.” 

“Ah! how gay and happy you are, my 
dear Ouirda.” 

“ Happy 1 I am very, very happy. I fall 
asleep praying for my lover, and my first 
thought on waking is still of him. When he 
touches my hand and smiles down upon me, 
I forget everything else.” 


Encbantment 


Heaven bless you, my dear child ! I will 
see you again soon. Au revoir.’' 

He takes his departure, only half-satisfied 
that the future will bring her all she antici- 
pates. Her happiness surely depends upon 
this marriage. She is so young, so ignorant 
of all that is bad and unworthy in this world y 
she has seen only the bright side of life. In 
his heart he prays that she may be spared all 
that will grieve her. He had intended to 
warn her of the possible dangers that might 
come to her, but her enthusiasm disarmed 
him. He knew the world — knew that it so 
often happened that the possession and inti- 
macy that follow marriage, while they inten- 
sify and strengthen the love of the woman, 
in the majority of cases destroy the man's 
passion altogether, leaving only a shadow of 
tenderness behind them ; and that these 
painful truths every woman has to learn 
sooner or later — 

L’homme aime pour le plaisir qu’il re9oit, 

La femme aime pour le plaisir qu’elle donne.” 


135 


CHAPTER XI. 


THE WEDDING, THE JOURNEY, AND THE HOME- 
COMING 


** The golden sun is shining, 

The wedding-bells are chiming, 
And music fills the air.” 


HE sunny days preceding the 
wedding had been full of 
sweetness to Ouirda. She 
felt that she had never lived 
until now. She existed in a 
delicious dream-land. 

The required civil mar- 
riage at the Mairie was 
accomplished, and the following day all was 
in readiness for the religious ceremony. 

There was an odor of orange-blossoms, 
a fluttering of white ribbons, and rustling 
of silken robes, sweet, silvery laughter and 
pleasant voices, and an atmosphere of warmth 
and gaiety, for it was Ouirda’s wedding-day. 

136 



Zhc Mebbing 

The marriage was to take place at noon, 
and the hour was near at hand. The toilette 
of the bride was completed. There was a 
general cry of admiration. Her golden hair 
gleamed under the bridal veil. She was very 
beautiful, but so quiet, so pale. 

Leaning on the arm of her guardian, she 
walked up the aisle of the fine old church to 
meet the man who was soon to be her hus- 
band. Everyone could see from the half- 
frightened but trustful look upon her face, 
and the firm, yet tender smile around her 
mouth, that she was thinking of the impor- 
tance of the step she was about to take. 

“I am leaving my girlhood behind me,'’ 
thought Ouirda, “and going forth upon an 
unknown sea ; but so great is my trust in 
him whom I have chosen, that I step forward 
without fear and in perfect confidence.” 

The ceremony is over. The carriages 
draw up to the portal of the church, and the 
bridal party return to the house of the Mar- 
quise de Verville for the wedding-breakfast. 
There were few guests besides the mem- 
bers of the families and their most intimate 
friends. 


137 


®utrt)a 


After the breakfast was over the Count 
and his bride were to start at once on a trip 
to Southern France. 

The bride looked scarcely less lovely in her 
soft, gray travelling costume than in all her 
bridal finery; and the Count — the perfect 
fit and newness of his clothes, his carefully- 
curled mustache, the glitter of his fashionable, 
polished boots, and, more than all, the deli- 
cate white orchid-blossom relieved against 
the breast of his coat, proclaimed him the 
happy bridegroom without need of words. 

The last good-by was said, and the car- 
riages rolled away to the gare de Lyon. 
Several friends accompanied them to the 
station for a few last words with the travel- 
lers. The shrill En voiture. Messieurs ! 
the shutting of doors, and the first hard 
breathing of the locomotive, as the train 
drew slowly out of the station, drowned the 
voices of the happy pair as they responded 
to the last good wishes of their friends. 

We will leave them to their happiness, and 
look out of the windows on the passing scenes. 

Out of the dark station, and through the 
straggling outskirts of the great city, they rush 
*38 


Zbc 3ourne^ 

on among those rich terraces of the Cote 
d’Or, long coveted by France of the Dukes 
of Burgundy, where the vines left scarce 
a glimpse of the yellow-red soil. The nu- 
merous villages, thickly sown as the almond 
trees that dot the fields, flew past the windows 
of the car. 

The tall chimneys of the iron-works of 
Creuzot blazed with red fires in the face of 
the sun. Magon came and vanished. The 
sunset touched the white chateaux along the 
banks of the Saone, which narrowed under 
the wooded heights of Mont d’Or ; then, with 
a shriek, the train plunged into the tunnel of 
Notre Dame that announces the approach to 
Lyons. They arranged to break the long 
ride at Lyons, passing the night there and 
taking the train the following morning. 

In this way the scenery along the route 
was all passed in the daytime, as it was all 
new and interesting to Ouirda. The Count 
pointed out what was of especial interest 
as they sped along the rigid rail, which per- 
mits no wandering, behind the iron steed 
that brooks no dallying. How sorely this 
would have tired the spirit of Montaigne, who 
139 


®uirt)a 


said : “ If the way is bad on the right hand, I 
turn to the left. If I find myself unfit to 
ride, I stay where I am. If I have left any- 
thing behind me unseen, I go back to see it ; 
^tis still my way, I trace no certain line either 
straight or crooked.^^ 

The route presented many a fresh and 
pleasant picture : The turbulent Rhone, 
braiding its yellow strand of waters with the 
torrents of Drome and Ardeche, to un- 
weave it again among the gravel-beds and 
salt-lagoons of Camargne — now broadening 
out on the wide plains, lined with avenues of 
poplar and willow, and narrowed and pushed 
aside by the naked cliffs, girdled with ham- 
lets, nearly lost in the shade of the mulberry 
trees of the valley of the Isere, cradled 
among the Alps of Dauphine, which in the 
distance loom against Mont Blanc — Avig- 
non spires and Papal towers, and last, but 
not least, Marseille, and the first view of 
the blue Mediterranean. 

That evening in the twilight Ouirda 
breathed for the first time that indescribable 
freshness of the night peculiar to those 
countries that border on this marvellously 

140 


Z\)c 3ournei2 

beautiful sea, and watched the stars and the 
receding of the mole and the quays of Mar- 
seille, as they sped on to Nice, their desti- 
nation. They remained several days in this 
beautiful city, which is a miniature Paris. 

The Count proposed that they visit the 
unique principality of Monaco and Monte 
Carlo, so they take a train and go down 
through the olive woods of Beaulieu, and by 
the edge of the blue sea to Monaco. To the 
Count this is all familiar, but to the Countess 
it is like wandering in fairy-land, and her 
enthusiasm never wanes. 

The Count de Sarzeau and the Prince of 
Monaco are old friends. They had been 
bons camarades together in Paris, and when 
the Prince received the cards of the Count 
and his bride, he entertained them royally at 
his old castle on the high, rocky bluff. 

The Prince’s army and navy were called 
out for review in honor of his guests. 

The army consists of one company of sol- 
diers, and the navy of one large and three 
small pleasure-yachts and several row-boats. 
Nevertheless, all ceremonies are conducted 
in regular military and naval style. 


®uir&a 


After their visit to the castle they go over 
to that paradise of the Mediterranean — 
Monte Carlo. 

When the French, German, and Italian 
Governments united to suppress gambling 
within their dominions, the association which 
reigned at Baden-Baden, Homburg and else- 
where looked to Monaco as an eligible site 
for a bank. 

The house of Monaco was practically pen- 
niless in 1856, when Baron Blanc arrived to 
establish the Casino there. The Prince is 
now worth more than ten millions of dollars. 
He receives now five hundred thousand dol- 
lars yearly from the concession, and will get a 
lump sum of five millions of dollars extra 
for the renewal of the concession, which ex- 
pires in 1913. 

This little principality is the smallest mon- 
archy in Europe. It is entirely independent 
of France or Italy, and is ruled absolutely by 
the Prince of Monaco, from whom the gam- 
bling establishment obtained its license. 

The Casino, which contains the Salon de 
Jeu, is an elaborate building, situated on a 
promontory overlooking the sea and sur- 

142 


^be Journey? 

rounded by beautiful gardens. Close by is 
the Hotel de Paris, where sumptuous living 
can be had, and everything in the entire 
vicinity is of rare attractiveness. 

On entering the Casino, the reading and 
concert-rooms are first seen. At the door of 
the Salon de Jeu you are requested to step 
into an office and register your name and 
address and receive a card of admission. In 
the first hall the game is roulette. Nothing 
less than five-franc pieces are allowed on the 
table, the limit being very high. In other 
halls you will find roulette and trente et 
quarante. You draw near the roulette-table, 
which is covered with green cloth ; this cloth 
has divisions marked upon it, numbered and 
separated by red and black lines. The wheel 
is in the middle of the table, a sort of metal 
basin fixed in the table. The wheel goes 
one way, and a little marble ball, launched 
by the fingers of the chief croupier, rolls the 
other way until its momentum is exhausted, 
and it falls into one of the compartments, 
divided, numbered, and colored likewise, red 
or black. 

At the two ends of the table are seated two 


143 


®utrt)a 


sub-croupiers, in black coats and white cra- 
vats — clean-shaven, like priests, gloomy and 
cold, like judges — armed with little wooden 
rakes, taking the money lost or giving the 
money won without a sign of emotion. Be- 
tween the croupiers a circle of players of 
both sexes, sitting or standing close together, 
with their stakes before them, noting the 
decision of the wheel, placing their bets, 
withdrawing their winnings, or leaving their 
losses, counting and recounting, piling up 
and unpiling the white and yellow coins. 

“ Faites VOS jeux. Messieurs ! Le Jeu est 
fait ! Rien ne va plus ! ” And the wheel 
continues to turn. 

The Count and Countess, having enjoyed 
the varied pleasures which this wonderfully 
attractive place affords, turned their faces 
toward home, for at Royallieu the home- 
coming of the master and his beautiful bride 
was anticipated. 

After a pleasant journey, they arrived at 
the station and found gorgeously-decorated 
carriages awaiting them. As they neared 
the chateau vast crowds met them with ring- 
ing cheers as they passed under the many 

144 


Zbc 1bome*^comtng 

arches erected in their honor. They tra- 
verse the park, which the hand of nature has 
made exceedingly beautiful, up to the old 
chateau, that the skilful hands of man has 
made replete with comfort combined with 
grandeur. 

Flags were flying everywhere, and a glad 
smile of welcome was on every face. 

Ouirda’s heart was filled with emotion, 
and tears sprang to her eyes. 

“ Long live the Count and Countess ! 
shouted the people as the carriage was 
driven slowly through the grounds. 

“God bless her beautiful face !'’ cried the 
men. 

“ May the Blessed Virgin protect her ! '' 
shouted the peasants. 

She was a stranger, but they all gave her 
welcome. 

** Long live the Count and Countess ! ’’ 
Even the birds caught up the cry, and the 
winds that fanned her cheek repeated it. 
Her face flushed with pleasure, and her eyes 
grew dim with unshed tears as she bowed 
her greetings to the friendly faces around 
her. 


145 


®ulr&a 


Entering the wide hall, lined with servants, 
the Count took his bride by the hand and 
proudly presented her as their Chatelaine. 
She had a smile and a kind word for them 
all, in response to their cordial, respectful 
welcome. 

It was a picturesque and beautiful scene, 
this fine chateau in gala array, the proud 
husband, and the happy bride. 


146 


CHAPTER XII. 


BREAKFAST AT THE CAF6 DE LA PAIX. 


" Happiness for man, — the hungry sinner, 

Since Eve ate apples, much depends on dinner.” 


HE Marquis Gaston de Ver- 
ville was awakened one 
morning, soon after the 
marriage of Miss Winston 
and the Count de Sarzeau, 
by a cheery voice calling to 
him from the garden below. 
‘^Nine o’clock, Gaston, 
nine o'clock. Get up. Come down and hear 
the dickey birds sing.” 

Gaston sprang out of bed and saw his 
old friend. General de Kiersabec, standing 
in the garden under his window, with his 
hands behind his back. 

To dress and run down was the work of a 
few moments. 

** Good morning, dear General. I am de- 
lighted to see you ! ” 



147 


®uir&a 


The old gentleman stopped short in his 
walk and looked at the Marquis from head 
to foot. 

Humph ! you have dressed quickly.” 

I did not take any unnecessary time, I 
assure you. I was so surprised and pleased 
to see you. When did you come ? ” 

“Just now. I took the early train. The 
truth is, I felt a little rusty and depressed, 
and thought I would run up to Paris for a 
play spell and amusement.” 

“ And this time you will stop here with us, 
won’t you ? ” 

“Tut, tut, my boy; you know an old sol- 
dier wants his own quarters. My man 
Pierre stopped on the way to find me a suit- 
able place to stay for ten days or so. There 
he comes now, the rascal, to report what he 
has found.” 

Pierre Bouret approaches, gives his cus- 
tomary military salute, and informs the Gen- 
eral that he has secured an apartment near 
by, and will the General come and look at it ? 

The two gentlemen follow Pierre to a quiet 
street not far distant. 

In Paris a lodging-house (or, as it is called, 

148 




Breaftfaat at tbe Cafe be la paix 

a hotel meuble) is a little village in itself ; 
a swarming hive from basement to attic, a 
miniature model of the great world beyond, 
with its sentiments, loves, hatreds, jealousies, 
aspirations, and struggles. Like the world, 
it contains several grades of society, but 
with this difference, that those who occupy 
the loftiest position are held in the lowest 
esteem. Thus the fifth-floor lodgers turn up 
their noses at the inhabitants of the attic ; 
while the fifth floor in its turn is scorned by 
the fourth, and the fourth is despised by 
the third, and the third by the second, down 
to the magnificent dwellers on the premier 
etage, who live in majestic disdain of every- 
body above or beneath them, from the gris- 
ettes in the garret to the concierge who has 
the care of the cellars. 

Pierre had secured the premier etage, 
which was quite comfortably furnished. After 
looking at the rooms the General expressed 
his satisfaction. He found his luggage in 
place, and already everything looked quite 
home-like. 

Leaving Pierre in charge the General said, 

Gaston, what do you say to taking a walk 

149 


®uir&a 


somewhere for a little exercise ; and then I 
want you to dejeuner with me” 

“ With all my heart, General. Where shall 
we go? '' 

Mon Dieu ! 9a m’est egal.” 

They walk along together, silently, for 
there is an endless entertainment in the life- 
tide of a Paris street. What color, what 
character, what animation, what variety ! 
Every third or fourth man is a blue-bloused 
artisan, every tenth a soldier in a showy 
uniform. Then comes the grisette, the maid 
in a white cap, and the lemonade-vender with 
his fantastic pagoda slung like a peepshow 
across his shoulders ; and the peasant woman 
from Normandy, with her high-crowned head- 
dress ; and the abb^, all in black, with his 
shovel hat pulled low over his eyes ; and the 
mountebank, selling his pencils and matches 
to the music of a hurdy-gurdy ; and the gen- 
darme, the terror of the street-urchins, and 
the gamin, who is the terror of the 
gendarme ; and the water-carrier, with his 
cart and his cracked bugle ; then the ele- 
gant ladies and gentlemen, who look into 
the shop windows and hire seats at two 


BreaMaat at tbe Cafe be la pair 

sous each in the Champs Elysees ; and, of 
course, the English tourist, reading his red- 
covered “ Baedeker ” as he goes along ; then, 
perhaps, a regiment marches, with colors 
flying and trumpets sounding, ora mournful- 
looking funeral goes by, with a hearse like an 
old-fashioned fourposter, hung with black vel- 
vet and silver ; or an itinerant showman, with 
his company of white rats, establishes him- 
self on the edge of the pavement until ad- 
monished to move on by the sergent de ville. 

What an ever-changing panorama ! What 
a picture of color and character ! What a 
study for a painter, poet, or writer ! 

It is near luncheon-time, and the General 
proposes that they seek some restaurant, 
where they can get their noon dejeuner. 

would like to go where we can get a 
good breakfast — where we will see life and 
be amused as well — so you lead the way, 
Gaston.” 

“ Allons alors au Cafe de la Paix ! ” 

They enter the spacious rooms, which are 
reflected in mirrors that extend from floor to 
ceiling. Rows of small tables ran around 
the room, and a double line down the centre. 


®uir&a 


each laid with its snowy cloth and glittering 
silver. The restaurant was well filled. Here 
sat a party of officers, bronzed and mus- 
tached ; yonder a jolly group, evidently an 
American family; a quaternion of rollicking 
comis-voyagers ; a stout capitalist, solitary and 
self-contented ; an English couple, dignified, 
but perplexed and curious. 

They walked the entire length of the room 
and back on the other side before finding a 
table to suit them. When seated they ordered 
an appetizer, and while sipping their absinthe 
they look on the varied assemblage that one 
always finds in this popular cafe. 

The Marquis calls the attention of the Gen- 
eral to two young men who are standing near 
the doorway. 

“ Those young men are two of the bright- 
est fellows and most improvident scamps in 
all Paris.’’ 

Who are they, do you know them ? ” 

** Oh, yes ; I know them well. You meet 
them everywhere ; they are both younger sons 
of good families. One of them. Monsieur 
Horace de Cuyler, writes for the Journal des 
DSbafs and other papers ; the other gentle- 

152 


BreaWaet at tbe Cafe be la pair 

man, Monsieur Theophile d’Auli^re, does 
feuilleton, chit-chat, and political squibs for the 
Figaro — rubbish, of course, but clevet rub- 
bish, and wonderful when one considers what 
young scamps they are, and what dissipated 
lives they lead. They say that sometimes 
they have only one decent suit of clothes be- 
tween them ; but to-day both of them are 
well-dressed. They lead Bohemian lives and 
enjoy them. Fll wager they are at their wits* 
end many times for a dinner.” 

Suppose we astonish them by inviting 
them to dejeuner with us. What say you, 
Gaston ? They may amuse us.’* 

“ Certainly, my dear General, if you wish 
it, I will speak to them.” 

Do so, my boy. I like to be with bright 
young people sometimes.” 

The Marquis rises and goes over to the 
two young men, who salute him with much re- 
spect. He chats pleasantly a few moments with 
them, and then inquires if they have lunched. 
Monsieur de Cuyler answers with a gay laugh. 

‘‘We were just proposing to play a game 
of dominoes to see who should pay for the 
dejeuner.” 


153 


©uirba 


The two young men thanked the Marquis 
for the compliment, and returned with him to 
be presented to General de Kiersabec. They 
bow almost to their boots, and say : 

‘‘ Monsieur le General, Je suis enchante de 
faire votre connaissance.’' 

When they are seated at the table the Gen- 
eral orders the breakfast, and he is very par- 
ticular that the attentive gar^on should fully 
understand what he wishes. The last order 
was to be careful about the wine, and the 
waiter bows with a look of relief. 

The General is chatty, and soon the two 
young men are quite at their ease. 

‘‘ What did I understand your name to be, 
de Cuyler?” 

‘‘ Y es, mon General, de Cuyler is my name.’’ 

'‘Tiens ! I must have known some of your 
people in Algiers. There was a Viscount de 
Cuyler, a captain, I think, who rode through 
the enemy’s camp single-handed and escaped 
without a scratch. That was the time he earned 
the little red ribbon in his buttonhole.” 

‘‘You are right, cher General ; the captain 
was my uncle.” 

“Well, is that so! I congratulate you on 
154 


BreaMa^t at tbe Cafe be la patx 

being his nephew ; he was a gallant soldier 
and came of good stock. I remember, now, 
this captain’s father was at Austerlitz, and 
was killed at the head of his squadron. So 
you belong to that family ? ” 

“ I am proud to say that I do.” 

While the General and de Cuyler were en- 
joying these military reminiscences, the Mar- 
quis and Monsieur d’Auli^re were looking 
at the American family, which consisted of 
the jolly, red-faced father, the rather stout, 
good-looking mother, one young lady, a young 
girl, and a half-grown boy. The young lady 
was a decided beauty, and as she gave the 
orders it was evident that she was the only 
one of the family who could speak French. 
She had a- difficult task, as the young imp of 
a brother amused himself by guying her con- 
tinually, not entirely for the mischief of it, 
but to make his younger sister laugh at his 
remarks. The father and mother, occupied 
in disposing of their breakfast and discuss- 
ing their plans, did not observe the little play 
of their hopeful son. 

Monsieur d’Auli^re exclaims to the Mar- 
quis, *'Elle a un chic incroyable.” 

155 


®utr^a 


The Marquis is of the same opinion. 

“ Oui, elle est tres bien mise, tres simple, 
mais tr^s bien, elle n’est pas mal du tout. 
Regardez, how patiently she endures that 
boy's mischief and tantalizing remarks." 

‘‘ Yes, and with what a sweet smile and 
pleasant voice she reproves him." 

How much I admire that kind of a voice, 
soft and low. It is only well-bred people who 
have such music in their voices," said the 
Marquis. 

“ Messieurs, will you try this Chambertin ? 
It is my favorite wine — and so it was Na- 
poleon’s," gayly observed the General. 

“That is another evidence of the sympathy 
and similarity that exists between great gen- 
erals," de Cuyler observes, with a respectful 
bow. 

“We grow sententious on Burgundy, 
logical on Bordeaux, sentimental on Cypress, 
maudlin on Lacrima Cristi, and witty on 
Champagne. Chambertin is the best of them 
all." 

The dejeuner proceeds in the most enjoy- 
able manner possible. The General, who 
wishes to be amused, was himself the enter- 
156 


Breaftfaet at tbe Cafe be la patx 

tainer. He related many anecdotes of his 
military life, and he told his stories well. 

Do you ever wish for active service 
again, General?’' Monsieur de Cuyler in- 
quired. 

“Yes, sometimes my sword-arm is weary 
of its holiday, and there are times when I 
long for the smell of gunpowder and the 
thunder of battle. I grow weary of a quiet 
life occasionally, and regret having left the 
army ; at other times I rejoice, for, after all, 
in these piping times of peace, to be an old 
soldier is to be a mere puppet, a scarecrow 
in gold bullion — a sign not of what is, but 
of what has been, and may be yet again. 
For my part, I cannot take the livery with- 
out the service. Pardi ! Will things never 
mend, and are the good old times and the 
old international hatreds gone forever? 
Shall we never again have a thoroughly 
seasonable. Continental war? I sometimes 
amuse myself by planning a siege in my 
solitary hours at home, and I ride around my 
estate and fancy I am inspecting the fortifi- 
cations.” 

Monsieur de Cuyler has an eye to busi- 
es; 


®uirt)a 


ness, and is taking mental notes of this ec- 
centric old man for future use. He replies 
to the soldier’s eloquence by saying : 

Alphonse Karr says that ‘ nothing in life 
is really great and good except what is not 
true — that man’s greatest treasures are his 
illusions.’ ” 

“Then we all have treasures,” said the 
Marquis, “ for we all indulge in illusions.” 

“ My illusion is to look on the bright side 
of everything. We all can get a deal of 
pleasure out of life if we only possess the 
‘open sesame ’ to discover it.” 

“ Monsieur Horace studies life from all 
sides — one day he is devoted to Saint Ger- 
main, the next to Saint Honore, and then to 
Saint Antoine, three social strata — palace, 
mansion, garret !” remarked d’Auliere. 

“You are perfectly correct in your state- 
ment, Monsieur Theophile ; it is all in my 
line of business. I must use my imagination 
while I am young and possess it. I will be 
old and matter-of-fact soon enough.” 

“ The deuce you will ! Lord Lytton said 
that no one preserves their imagination after 
forty. I sometimes question if he has not 
158 


Breaftfaet at tbe Cafe be la ipaix 

put the limit ten years too far, and say that 
no one has illusions after thirty.” 

Mon cher Marquis, anyone who lived 
with you would preserve their illusions until 
they were one hundred.” 

“ Come, young gentlemen, stop this ; you 
are complimenting each other as if you were 
talking to your sweethearts. Take my advice, 
and grasp all the happiness and pleasure that 
come yourway. Cherish your illusions if you 
will, but be sure of the realities of life, for, 
quand on est mort, c’est pour long-temp^ ! ” 

The dejeuner being finished, the two young 
editors are sincere in their expressions of 
enjoyment. On leaving the cafe the Gen- 
eral begs to be excused, and says he will go 
to his rooms. The Marquis takes a cab and 
goes for a solitary drive in the country. 

“Congratulate me, Theophile,” remarks 
Monsieur Horace. 

‘‘What for?” 

“ Parbleu ! that I did not lose that game of 
dominoes we were going to play to see who 
should pay for the dejeuner.” 

“Ah, ah! We would die of ennui if we 
always had enough to eat.” 

159 


®ulrt)a 

‘‘What a noble fellow the Marquis de 
Verville is !” 

“ Yes, I agree with you. He is an elegant 
gentleman. One can see he has never aban- 
doned himself as utterly as most men of his 
age and rank to the empire of pleasure. 
There is a certain reserve and dignity about 
him that become the cast of his features 
and his gravity of manner. The General is 
a rare one ! How he mellowed up after his 
favorite Chambertin ; and did I not draw 
him out finely, Theophile? Own up, mon 
ami.” 

It was late in the evening when the Mar- 
quis returned from his long, solitary drive in 
the country. At times he was so depressed 
in spirits that he sought relief in the quietude 
of a long, lonely ramble in the woods. He 
had striven with all his might to overcome 
the great disappointment in the loss of his 
first love, but still he suffers. 

Dismissing his cab at the Pont de Sol- 
ferino, he started to walk to his home. He 
paused in the centre of the bridge to look at 
the river in the moonlight. There was 
neither wind nor cloud, and the sky was 

i6o 


JSreaWaet at tbe Cafe be la patx 

brilliant with stars. The Seine looked like 
a sheet of silver. It was late. The city on 
the rive gauche was dusky and silent. The 
other side was studded with millions of arti- 
ficial lights. The constant hum of a great 
city had not ceased there. The air was mild. 
The water looked cool and full of repose. 
Idle thoughts passed dreamily through Gas- 
ton’s brain as he leaned over the coping of 
the bridge. He had stood there so long that 
one of the guards came up to him with sus- 
picion, but recognizing the Marquis de Ver- 
ville, passed on without disturbing him, think- 
ing to himself, “ If I were that archimillion- 
naire it would be the inside of Bignon’s that 
would have me at this hour, and not the out- 
side of a bridge.” 


i6x 


XI 


CHAPTER XIII. 


THE COUNT AND COUNTESS DE SARZEAU AT HOME 

" Ah I should’st thou love but once love’s sweets to prove, 

Thou wilt not love to live, unless thou live to love.” 


OME time had elapsed since 
the home-coming of the 
Count and Countess at 
Royallieu. 

In the first flush of grati- 
fied pride the young hus- 
band showered rare gifts 
and devoted attentions on 
his young wife. He presented her with 
proud satisfaction to his many friends, who 
came constantly to the chateau to pay their 
compliments. Her fame as a beauty and a 
great heiress excited their curiosity. They 
came to criticise the American bride, but 
when they met her their feelings changed to 
admiration, and they soon forgot that the 
Count had married simply a young Ameri- 

162 



ZDc Count anb Counteeo at Ibome 


can who was not one of the nobility. To be 
sure, there were envious ones — and they were 
usually the women friends, ladies of good 
position — who, finding that ce beau gar^on, 
and shockingly-fast club man, as the Count 
had the reputation of being, had actually 
married an American girl, were more than 
anxious to meet her. 

They found her a very beautiful and ele- 
gant woman ; well-posed and stylish, jusqu* 
au bout des ongles ; a lady who could walk 
across a room with perfect ease, lounge with 
grace, take a gentleman's arm with dignity ; 
and yet, she came from nowhere — but Amer- 
ica. 

She could converse with ease on any sub- 
ject, was a finished musician, artistic in dress, 
and perfect in all that pertains to social eti- 
quette and good-breeding. 

They came to criticise, but left in admira- 
tion. 

In return for the attentions and civility 
which had been extended to them, the Count 
and Countess had given a series of stately 
dinner-parties in the great hall of the old 
chateau — a grand room which was used only 

163 


®uir&a 


on state occasions, such as when the eldest 
son of the family became of age, or for the 
home-coming festivities of the reigning Count 
and his bride. 

Then only were heard the noise of many 
feet on the ringing flags of the marble floor 
and the sound of voices echoing from the 
wainscoted walls, which were two stories 
high, and bisected at one end by a gallery, 
the '' Minstrel’s Gallery ” of olden time. 

From this gallery many generations of 
proud ladies had looked down upon their 
lords as they feasted in the splendor of by- 
gone days. In those ancient times ladies 
did not grace the dinner-table by their pres- 
ence; their lords preferred feasting and 
drinking by themselves, and usually these 
merry dinners ended in an orgie. 

For the first time in the history of this 
ancient family had a lord brought home an 
American girl as his bride, and naturally it 
occasioned considerable gossip. 

These ceremonious dinner-parties had 
been exceedingly formal functions, and it was 
a relief to the Countess when the last social 
debt of hospitality had been paid. 

164 


^Tbe Count anb Counteeo at Ibome 


In the season of rest that followed these 
festivities she never wearied of wandering 
about the gardens, the terraces, and the 
park, listening to the songs of the birds and 
the musical murmur of the fountains. The 
dense forest on one side of the grounds cast 
deep shadows, making this stately and royal 
place like haunted grounds, where grande 
dames had passed their youth centuries ago, 
had read their love-tales beneath the spread- 
ing oaks, and walked with their lovers under 
the magnolias. Perhaps they had gathered 
the field-daisies, and plucking the leaves, one 
by one, murmured, ‘‘ II m’aime, un peu, beau- 
coup, passionement, — pas du tout.’* 

The Count was anxious to return to Paris, 
and proposed to the Countess that they 
should make the necessary preparations, 
stating that he had received word from his 
homme d’alfaire that their city mansion was 
in a perfect state of readiness. 

The last calls were made, and soon they 
bid good-by to Royallieu, and journeyed to 
Paris and their home in the Faubourg Saint 
Germain. 

What a transformation has been made 
165 


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during their absence ! Money, art, talent, and 
invention seemed to have done their utmost, 
and now the mansion was one of the most 
superb in Paris. 

The lofty drawing-room, with its four tall 
windows, that looked out upon the garden, 
was draped in rose-colored silk and lace. 
The carpet was of rich velvet pile, with roses 
trailing over the white ground. This room 
had been redecorated in this manner as a 
delicate compliment to the Countess. 

The priceless paintings that hung upon 
these walls, and had been the pride of this 
room for hundreds of years, were retained 
in their time-honored places, making a rare 
blending of treasures of art, both ancient and 
modern, that was very attractive. 

A beautiful marble Flora, holding in her 
hand a basket of flowers ; a copy of a famous 
Venus; a Diana; vases of rare design and 
form — everything that art, refined taste, and 
opulence could produce was in this superb 
room. 

Opening out of the drawing-room was a 
small salon. This room was so perfect in all 
its appointments that the decorators decided 

166 


Zhc Count anb Countcoo at Ibome 


not to disturb or change it in any way. A 
complete set of furniture, covered with golden 
tapestry, a triumph of patient work, which 
had cost a fortune, adorned this salon. The 
draperies were soft gray and gold. On the 
walls were panels in which were exquisite pic- 
tures, painted by V ernet and Greuze. Every- 
thing in this room evinced the long and 
patient labor of those whose riches were of 
ancient date, and that each succeeding gen- 
eration had added to the heirlooms received 
from their ancestors other treasures to be 
handed down to their children. 

The apartments of the Countess were all 
newly decorated, and were worthy of their 
fair mistress — dainty, luxurious, and beauti- 
ful. Handsome bookcases, burdened with 
priceless lore, lined the walls of one room ; 
and on each side of a massive carved escri- 
toire stood a bronze candelabrum which shed 
light on a blue-velvet desk, where lay deli- 
cate sheets of writing-paper with elaborate 
monograms and gilded crests, guarded by an 
exquisite marble statuette of Hippocrates, 
which stood in the mirror-panelled recess, 
reserved for pen, ink, and sealing-wax. 

167 


®u^r^a 


The air was fragrant with the perfume of 
fresh flowers that nodded to each other from 
costly vases scattered through the room ; and 
before one of the windows stood an ivory- 
porcelain stand with plants in brilliant bloom. 
An Erard piano occupied one corner, and 
the music-stand at its side was heaped with 
books and unbound sheets of music. 

On the oval table in the centre of the room 
was a superb silver lamp, representing Psyche 
bending over Cupid, and supporting the 
finely-cut globe, whose soft radiance streamed 
down on the burnished wings and eagerly- 
parted, sweet, Grecian lips. 

The design of this exceedingly beautiful 
lamp would not have disgraced Benvenuto 
Cellini, nor its execution have reflected dis- 
credit upon the genius of Fauvart. In its 
mellow, magical glow the fine paintings on 
the walls caught a gleam of “ That light that 
never was on sea or land,’' for their dim, pur- 
plish Alpine scenes were filled with snowy 
gorges and rushing avalanches ; their green 
dells and grassy hillsides, vaguely populous 
with mirage-mockeries and fleecy flocks, bor- 
rowed all Arcadia’s repose. The marble 
168 


Zhc Count anb Counteao at 1bome 


busts of Beethoven and Handel, placed on 
bronze brackets above the piano, shone as 
if rapt, transfigured in the mighty inspiration 
that gave to the world Fidelio and the 
“ Messiah.” 

One afternoon the Countess sat before the 
piano running her fingers idly across the keys, 
now striking a wild, stormy fugue-theme, 
and then softly evoking a subtle minor chord 
that suggested the utterance of some despair- 
ing spirit breathing its last prayer for peace. 
Her pale blue dress was loosely held at 
the waist by a belt and buckle of silver, and 
the loose sleeves were looped up, showing 
the dimpled elbow and daintly rounded 
wrist. About her throat she had carelessly 
thrown a white lace scarf, and in the masses 
of her golden hair a bunch of blue myosotis 
leaned down • to touch the white forehead 
beneath, and peeped at the answering blue 
gleams in the large, shining, steely eyes. 
Her fingers strayed listlessly into a nocturne, 
and from the dreamy expression of her face, 
upraised to the busts on the brackets above, 
it was evident that her thoughts had wandered 
away from Addio del passato,” and were 

169 


®ulr&a 


treading the drift-strewn strands of memory. 
Presently she arose and walked across the 
room, and came back to an etagere, where 
stood an azure vase, supported by silver 
tritons and filled with blue hyacinths and 
white daisies. Bending her head, she inhaled 
the mingled perfumes, worthy of Cyprian 
meadows ; and while her white fingers toyed 
with the fragile petals, a proud smile lent its 
light to her face. 

A footstep approached the open door, and 
her heart beat more quickly as she recog- 
nized the step and the voice. 

May I come in ? 

‘‘ Raoul, you are always welcome, dear.” 

“ I came to ask you if you would like to 
go for a drive in the Bois, ma chere Ouirda,” 
says the Count, as he bends gallantly over 
her hand. 

should like it above all things — with 
you, dear — when shall we go ? ” 

“We will have time for a fine ride before 
dinner, I think.” 

“Why, is it so late? Pray, what time can 
it be ? ” 

“ Ah, ma belle, shall I answer you as Vol- 

170 


^bc Count anb Counteoo at Ibome 

taire once did a famous beauty when she 
asked him the same question ? 

“ Do tell me. I would love to know what 
Voltaire could have said in reply to such a 
commonplace remark/’ 

J’ ai deux montres — 

L’une avance, I’autre retarde j 
Quand pres de vous je dois courir, 

A la premiere je regarde, 

A I'autre quand je dois partin’’ 


Ravissant ! Ravissant ! I did not know 
Voltaire was capable of being so charming.” 

“ He was not only charming, my dear, but 
he was very gallant as well,” and taking 
Ouirda’s face between his two hands he im- 
presses an impassionate kiss upon her lips, 
murmuring, “ Oh ! que je t’aime ma cherie !” 

Ouirda disengages herself and soon re- 
turns en toilette de promenade. 

As they drive up the Champs-Elysees many 
admiring eyes rest upon this handsome pair. 
The Countess had that exquisite loveliness 
of a Parisian woman of society, which is 
made up of so many details of costume, 
manner, and style. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


LA PRINCESSE DE SALANDE CHEZ ELLE 

“ You live one-half year, with deception and art, 
With art and deception, you live t’other part.” 



lADAME MONTFORT en- 
tered the drawing-room of 
her friend, the Princess de 
Salande, on the day that she 
was at home to her friends. 
Madame had come at an 
early hour to have a little 
confidential chat before the 
arrival of other visitors, who would come in 
throngs later to pay their compliments. 

“ Bon jour, Princesse ! bon jour ! Comme 
vous avez bonne mine aujourd’ hui !” 

“Is it so? Well, I am not sorry. To tell 
you the truth, I have been trying to take a 
little better care of myself recently, and just 
before you came in I had been enjoying such 
a pleasant call and had laughed myself into 
a good humor.’' 


172 


Xa princeeae &e Salan&e cbej jeUe 

“ Do tell me about it/' 

It is the very latest bit of scandal. No 
matter how I heard all the particulars ; one 
thing is sure, I know it to be true." 

“ Vraiment ! Do tell me, I am all anxiety 
to hear about it." 

‘‘This time it is no less a personage than 
an English Prince, for the man, and an Eng- 
lish milady, who lives near the Champs 
Elysees. You see, the Prince came over 
here to assist at the Boulanger festivities, 
and, of course, the first leisure hour he had 
he went to call upon his old sweetheart. He 
was seen to leave the Hotel Bristol, where 
he always stops when he is in Paris, and to 
enter a closed carriage, without an escort, 
and be driven away in the direction of the 
Arc de Triomphe. Of course, he was 
watched and followed. When he arrived at 
the Rond Point he dismissed his carriage 
and entered the fine old house on the corner. 
I was informed of all that took place. I have 
faithful eyes watching for me and my inter- 
ests everywhere. Of course, he was calling 
upon Lady Caron. Evidently he was ex- 
pected, for milady was gracefully reclining 
173 


®ulr&a 


among the cushions of a Turkish couch, 
playing with a King Charles spaniel. She 
had just kissed her little son good-night and 
intrusted him to the femme de chambre. 
You know she has only that one child, and 
he will be heir to a great fortune.*’ 

‘'Chere Princesse, I wonder what could 
have been the trouble between Lady Caron 
and her husband ? He persists in living in 
London, while she is devoted to Paris.” 

“ Now, don’t interrupt my story with ques- 
tions if you are interested enough to wish to 
hear the rest of it.” 

‘‘Pardonnez moi, I am all attention.” 

Well, soon my — no, I mean her — devoted 
maid, Justine, appeared with a card on a 
tiny silver tray. Taking the card, milady 
exclaims, * Oh, bien ! Faites entrer. Mon- 
sieur.’ And a stout, middle-aged gentleman 
enters, and with a smile advances and 
kisses the white hand which is extended to 
him. 

“ ‘ Bon soir, ch^re Comtesse, I am delighted 
to find you alone.’ 

‘‘‘Not more pleased than I, cher Prince. 
Will you have a seat here on the divan be- 
174 


Xa iprinceeee Salan&e cbes J6lle 

side me ? Lozar will make room for you/ 
says milady, offering him a cigarette. 

‘‘ ^ Mais non, ch^re Comtesse, permettez- 
moi.' And he takes his gold cigarette-case, 
with the royal arms engraved upon it, from 
his pocket, remarking, ‘You know mine 
are made expressly for me.' 

“ ‘ Thank you, dear Prince. Now, will 
you please pass the taper ? It is so charming 
to wait upon yourself and not be annoyed 
with someone constantly standing behind 
you.' 

“‘Yes, and to hear all you say,' rejoins 
the Prince. ‘This is Bohemian, and I like 
it.' 

“He rose hastily to get the wax taper 
from the mantel, and to avoid the dog that 
was lying on the rug, he made a misstep, and 
brought the lighted taper in contact with the 
silken gauze of the abat-jour of the Roches- 
ter lamp; and in a second the elaborate 
rose-colored shade was in flames. With 
great presence of mind the Countess ex- 
tinguished the lamp, and the Prince quickly 
put out the flames of the burning shade." 

“It would have been laughable to have 
175 


®uirt)a 


witnessed the scene, had it not been so dan- 
gerous,’’ exclaimed Madame Montfort. 

“That is what the maid said. She saw it 
all, but, of course, she could not offer any 
assistance unless she was summoned. But 
the Prince soon found out that he had burned 
one of his royal fingers. Without calling for 
help the Countess takes her own dainty 
handkerchief and wraps up the injured hand. 
After the excitement is over, milady feels 
that she is going to have a chill, and requests 
the Prince to continue his cigarette and ex- 
cuse her for a few moments. She goes to 
her room. 

“The faithful (?) maid, Justine, answers the 
bell, and soon her ladyship is quite comfort- 
able in her grand Henri II lit. 

“ ‘ May I come in ?’ 

“ Milady motions the maid to retire, and 
said, ‘ Certainement, cher Prince !’ The 
Prince enters, holding up his suffering hand, 
from which the handkerchief had fallen. He 
seems a little annoyed. 

“ Milady says to him, soothingly, ‘ Come 
along, you naughty boy; sit down here by 
me, and let me wrap up that poor hand again ; 

176 


Xa iprincme &e Salan&e cbes J£Ue 

pauvre cherie, nous n’avons pas de chance ce 
soir ! I hate those nasty lamps, if they are 
fashionable/ 

“As milady gently took the royal hand in 
hers to do it up again, there came a loud rap 
at the door, and a harsh voice said, ^ Ouvrez 
au nom de la loi !' and in a moment a com- 
missaire de police enters, followed by Lord 
Caron and a policeman. They step half-way 
into the room, and, much to their surprise, 
recognize the familiar face and form of the 
royal visitor. After a moment’s hesitation 
they exchange looks, then salute him with 
profound respect, and my Lord and his at- 
tendants withdraw. The jealous husband 
had not found the man he was looking for.” 

“Whom do you suppose he imagined was 
with milady?” 

“Why, the Baron d’Estrelles, of course! 
He has long been his wife’s lover, and the 
supposed father of the little son and heir.” 

“Well, this is a delicious bit of scandal I 
I, too, had a little news to tell you, but your 
story so far excels what I have, that it will 
sound very tame after yours ; besides, you 
are such a capital story-teller.” 
la m 


®uir&a 


“What is your news? Don’t make me 
anxious. I have talked so long I will be 
glad to keep quiet and listen.” 

“ I heard at the house of one of our new 
American friends something they were very 
much excited about. It seems that our pet 
singing-teacher has rather overstepped the 
bounds of politeness in her avariciousness, and 
she is just now furiously angry over an arti- 
cle that was published in a newspaper in one 
of the principal cities of the United States 
and copied in one of our papers. I have the 
article here. Shall I read it to you ?” 

“Yes, do, please.” 

Madame Montfort reads : 

“‘Trouble brewing in the Malchera 
School. 

“ ‘ Madame Malchera, the singing- teacher, 
for years has enjoyed the unlimited patron- 
age of American pupils, and most of her 
large fortune has come from them. The 
chief cause for complaint is that the pupils 
do not receive value for their money. All 
lessons are given in classes and are paid for 
in advance. 

“ ‘When Madame was in the Vienna Con- 

178 


Xa JPrinceaae be Salanbe cbes Elle 

servatory she received twelve dollars a 
month for three lessons a week. At present 
her price is six dollars a lesson, supposed to 
be of thirty minutes' duration. Pupils often 
wait for hours in the studio, and if Madame 
wishes to drive or feels disinclined to listen, 
the student is sent away without a lesson, or 
perhaps only ten minutes are given to her. 
It is also stated that Madame is often most 
inconsiderate in her treatment of those who 
go to her for lessons. She never hesitates 
to humiliate a pupil by criticising her clothing 
or her manner. 

“ ‘ Madame Malchera is usually fascinat- 
ing, and has a charming personality ; but 
there are times when life is not worth living 
in her studio. She has a habit of suggest- 
ing that presents be given on her fete-day, 
and she often signifies whether or not they 
are to her liking. Money sent must be put 
in an envelope, and ought to be hidden by 
flowers. 

“ ‘ Sympathy and encouragement are be- 
stowed only upon the rich. Many women 
have gained world-wide reputation through 
tlie instruction received in the Malchera 


179 


®uir&a 


School, but there are many others who, after 
many years of study, have returned broken- 
hearted to their homes. 

‘ Madame Malchera is no longer young, 
and although she is anxious to have her 
daughter Blanche take her place, it is doubt- 
ful if she will succeed in this undertaking, 
for Blanche is not a favorite among her 
mother’s scholars. 

“*Not long since some pupils, most of 
whom were Americans, sent a committee to 
Madame Malchera asking her to take her 
choice of giving them what they paid for or 
losing the entire class. Madame took ex- 
ceptions to what she called their impudence, 
but she was compelled to yield to their just 
demands, and the pupils have remained to 
finish their instructions.’ ” 

She has been served just right — she was 
so grasping — and I am glad of it. I have no 
patience with such proceedings,’' said the in- 
dignant Princess. 

‘‘ Our American friends will not stand such 
swindling; she has not been at all adroit 
about it." 

‘‘Hush,’’ said the Princess, “I hear the 

i8o 


Xa |prtncc60e &e Salanbe cbes Elle 

sharp voice of that disagreeable old gossip, 
Mademoiselle Torcaste. I wonder what 
special American or English girl will get 
abused to-day.” 

Bon jour, chere Princesse ! Bon jour, 
Madame ! I am so pleased that I am here 
before the crush, for we can have a cosey 
chat.” 

Draw your chair near, Mademoiselle ; we 
were just wishing you would come, as you 
are so entertaining and always have such a 
budget of news for us.” 

‘‘Thanks, chere Madame, it is so pleasant 
to be wished for. I was sure of my wel- 
come, and that was one reason why I came 
early. It is such an age since I have seen 
you — not since the grand wedding.” 

“ Oh, yes, you mean the marriage of the 
Count de Sarzeau and Miss Winston. I 
have had so many things to think of since 
then that I had nearly forgotten them. I 
suppose they are in the seventh heaven of 
bliss somewhere.” 

“Was it not marvellous how that Ameri- 
can girl captured the fancy of everyone, with 
her big, blue eyes and her crop of yellow 

i8i 


®u^r^a 


hair ! I don’t think I appreciated her beaut)’ 
as much as others did ; for my part, I think 
she can thank her large fortune for a great 
deal of her popularity.” 

“Do you really think so, Mademoiselle? 
Why, all the men were half- wild over her.” 

“ I know it, and I have often wondered if 
those noble, titled gentlemen would have 
flocked so persistently about her if she had 
been a poor girl.” 

The Princess smiled at the bitterness of 
Mademoiselle’s remarks, and replied : 

“Well, she succeeded in capturing a hand- 
some Count, and also had several other titles 
laid at her feet, so I have heard, ce n’est pas 
mal, ma chere !” 

“That is all true, and I am glad she is 
married. I am not one bit jealous that she 
possessed all that makes life agreeable ; only, 
I do not like to see our own girls slighted 
and these foreigners preferred just because 
they possess greater fortunes.” 

“You are quite right. Mademoiselle, and I 
shall continue to discourage all such mar- 
riages in the future, as I always have done 
in the past.” 


182 


Xa iPrincee^e &e Salan&e cbes JEUe 

“Bon jour, Docteur! We were just say- 
ing how much we missed the dear, charming 
Miss Winston — I beg pardon, the Countess 
de Sarzeau. She was so agreeable. How 
gladly we will welcome her among us again. 
Have you any recent news from the happy 
travellers ?” 

Doctor Campbell bowed his pleasure at 
the compliment paid to his ward. 

“I regret that I have no recent news to 
tell you. I have heard, however, that great 
preparations are being made for their return 
to Royallieu.” 

Many of the guests now entered the 
drawing-room, and the conversation became 
general. 

Fitting his eye-glasses firmly to his nose, 
as if looking for someone, the Prince de 
Salande entered. There was a gleam of his 
white teeth, as a smile of greeting moved his 
lips. 

He joined a group of ladies and gentle- 
men, and was especially agreeable to a bright- 
eyed English girl who was among them. 

Again the recent marriage was the topic 
most discussed. 


183 


©uirba 


“ I wonder if Miss Winston believed that 
the Count was more in love with her charm- 
ing self than with her fortune ? said a 
vinegar-visaged dowager, who had four eli- 
gible daughters to dispose of. 

“ She certainly was very much in love with 
him,’' said Monsieur de Bossier. “ But 
you women listen to the promptings of your 
hearts much oftener than to the cold dic- 
tates of reason.” 

“ Ma foi ! c’est superbe 9a, Monsieur 
Armand, you are too young to know much 
about the promptings of women’s hearts. 
Wait until you are as old as I am. You 
know the old adage, * experience is a most 
excellent teacher.’ ” 

“ Cher Prince, you think I do not under- 
stand women — I, a born-and-bred Parisian ! 
That is very good ; but tell me, who is that 
pretty girl over by the Princess, who is 
using her eyes so effectually on that impe- 
cunious young viscount beside her?” 

“ That is one of our new beauties. It is 
amusing to watch her. She is only practis- 
ing a little harmless coquetry, toying with 
her victim, as fish circle round and round 

184 


Xa prtncee^e be Salanbe cbej leile 

the bait which they fully intend to swallow. 
Shall I present you ? I think she will interest 
you.” 

“No, I thank you. I do not think I care — 
that is, unless she has a fortune.” 

“Yes, she is rich. Her people own large 
estates in the Departement of Haute-Marne. 
But you would not be smiled upon, mon ami. 
She wants a title and intends to buy herself 
a noble husband. That fat and fussy old 
woman sitting by that statue in the corner is 
her mother, and she is managing her daugh- 
ter most admirably. I am positively ashamed 
of our young men who have titles. Half of 
them are living on their wives’ fortunes. It 
seems to be their metier.” 

There was sufficient truth in this remark 
to make de Bossier wince a little, as it was 
generally known that he was in pursuit of a 
wife with a fortune. However, he replied in 
a careless way : 

“Yes, I think that is all true. One mar- 
ries nowadays not for love, or a pretty face, 
but for money — money to buy your pleas- 
ures, or to keep up your estates and your 
station. We have had quite an interesting 
i8s 


©utr&a 


chat, cher Prince, and I think I will go now 
and pay my respects to the Princess.” 

He approaches his hostess and is cordially 
welcomed. 

What were you and my lord talking so 
long and earnestly about ? No conspiracy, I 
hope ? ” 

“The old, ever new story. Princess — love 
and marriage.” 

“ Love and marriage ! What could you 
two find to say on that subject, and what do 
you know about love ? What is it, anyhow ?” 

“ No one can tell so well as you, dear 
Princess, who has torn the poor butterfly in 
pieces so often — sans merci.” 

“Ah! you delightful flatterer I However, 
I will forgive you, for I don’t think love was 
ever intended to be defined or discussed, but 
simply to be enjoyed.” 

“You are so bright and charming. T ell me 
your secret, chere Madame, of making every 
man in love with you ?” 

“ Oh, you inquisitive boy ; do you really 
wish to know? Well, then, I will tell you. 
If a woman does not make herself attractive 
to others, the especial man to whom she 
186 


%n princceee be Salanbe cbej Elle 

wishes to be attractive will soon cease to find 
her so. Women who make themselves a 
statue of fidelity, like the queen in Winter s 
Talcy will soon be left alone on their pedes- 
tals. Be as faithful as you please, but show 
the one you care for that you have every 
temptation and the opportunity to be unfaith- 
ful if it should please you to be so.'' 

‘‘Who would ever be clever enough to 
promulgate such ideas but yourself, ch^re 
Princesse ; and yet, there is a world of wis- 
dom in what you say." 

The Princess replied, with a little sigh : 

“I get very weary of all there is in life 
sometimes." 

“You, Princess? Impossible! Why, look 
about you at your numerous admirers, who 
are all sighing for one glance of your beaux 
yeux." 

“ II n’y a que les commencements qui sont 
charmants. In the middle of the romance I 
begin to yawn, and at the end we usually 
quarrel. There is Mademoiselle Torcaste 
sitting alone ; go over and console her a 
little, for I must go and welcome the German 
Ambassador, who has just come in." 

187 


©uirba 


De Bossier thinks to himself, as he turns 
away, “Always the pebble of ennui in the 
golden slipper of pleasure.’' He approaches 
the lone demoiselle, who is much gratified 
by his attention and smilingly says to 
him : 

“ I am charmed to see you ; what a stranger 
you are. Monsieur! One rarely sees you 
nowadays, and I have been wishing to speak 
to you.” 

“ I should have been all devotion long ago, 
only that you were so entirely monopolized 
by that learned Greek professor.” 

“Oh! mon Dieu ! don’t speak of him. He 
is certainly the most disagreeable man I ever 
met. He is as polished as an icicle, and 
quite as cold. He may be very astute and 
profound, but, assuredly, he is anything but 
agreeable.” 

“ You astonish me. Mademoiselle, I thought 
I saw him press your hand !” 

“ Pardon, you are mistaken ; he only picked 
up my fan that I carelessly dropped. Dieu 
merci ! I would as soon shake hands with 
the Asiatic plague.” 

“ Ha I ha ! ha ! That is good, very good. 

i88 


Xa {Prince00e be Salanbe cbej lEUe 

Shake hands with the Asiatic plague. You 
are very original, Mademoiselle.'’ 

The Prince de Salande takes de Bossier 
by the arm and tells him he wishes to present 
him to a new candidate for the Jockey Club. 

The presentation is made, and after a few 
moments’ conversation the Prince and de 
Bossier step to one side to talk over the 
new man. 

“ They tell me he is a wonderful player at 
ecarte, and that he usually wins, and after he 
has secured a good, round sum he always 
says his feet are cold, and begs to be excused 
for the evening.” 

‘‘ Eh, bien ! Prince, if he tries his cold-feet 
game on me I will suggest a remedy. Ha ! 
ha ! ha ! I will tell him to take a pinch of 
snuff and continue the game, that at our club 
good luck and cold feet don’t harmonize. 
Rest assured, we will have some amusement 
with him if he tries that little comedy.” 

“ I think we will get the best of him, Ar- 
mand,” rejoined the Prince. ‘'But come, 
let’s go to the dining-room for refresh- 
ments.” 

Je meurs de soif ! 

189 


CHAPTER XV, 


DfeSILLUSIONfiE 

** Can you keep the bee from ranging, 

Or the ring-dove's neck from changing? 
No 1 Nor fettered love from dying, 

In the knot there’s no untying. 


HE Countess enjoyed being 
in the open air, and every 
fine morning she would call 
her two dogs, “Zip” and 
“Aida,” and ramble for 
hours with them in the gar- 
den. Sometimes she would 
take a book and pass an 
entire morning reading under the trees. 

One day after a long romp with her dogs, 
feeling a little weary and wishing to rest, she 
thought of her favorite nook and strolled 
down in its direction. Presently “ Zip ” ran 
on in advance of her and stopped suddenly 
to smell of something in the pathway. The 
dog turned his head, looked back at his mis- 
tress, and wagged his tail with pleasure. 

190 



2)e6(nu0ionee 


When the Countess came up to him she saw 
something small and dark on the ground, 
which the dog faithfully guarded. She 
stooped and picked up the object, and saw it 
was a small portefeuille. Smiling to herself 
she said, “ I wonder if I have found a for- 
tune ? 

She turned it over, and as the fastening 
was insecure it fell open in her hands, and 
there slipped to the ground a photograph. 
She looked at it. It was the portrait of a 
beautiful, dark-eyed woman, with a face that 
would haunt a man through life ; a face — 
dark, gloomy, and brilliant — such as makes 
the daughters of Russia remarkable among 
the women of all lands — a face that, with its 
wondrous beauty, its laughing grace, would 
bewilder all who came under its spell. A 
queenly head, with massive coils of black, 
shining hair — a head that would have graced 
a crown, an ideal brow as beautiful as that of 
a Grecian goddess. Eyes full of dark-veiled 
splendor, and full of passion, of fire, and of 
poetry — that looked with a mocking smile 
into the blue depths of the woman who gazed 
upon them. Lips imperiously beautiful, with 


©uirba 


laughter, scorn, persuasion, ^nd command 
all hanging upon them — and a lovely, dim- 
pled chin. 

Who was she ? How did it come there ? 
Ouirda turned the portrait over. On the 
back was written the word ^‘Vera,’’ and 
underneath, in the familiar handwriting of 
her husband, “ My only love — lost October 
twentieth.’' 

The picture fell to the ground, and a cry 
of pain came from her heart to her lips. 
Repressing her emotion she again took the 
picture in her hands, and looked long and 
earnestly at it. The dark, brilliant beauty 
startled her ! The lovely eyes mocked her ! 
“Look at me!” they seemed to say. “He 
loved me. On the twentieth day of October 
he married you, but I have his heart I He 
does not love you, he never will love you. 
Look at me. I have his love.” 

Ouirda was stunned. She almost fancied 
she could hear a voice coming from those 
proud lips saying those terrible words. 

Then, with a sudden, desperate hope that 
this might not be true — that this might not 
be her husband’s after all — she looked inside 


192 


2)e0illu0ionee 


the portfeuille, and the hope died as soon as 
it was formed. There was his name, envel- 
opes addressed to him, bills, letters — there 
was no doubt, it surely was his. 

Ouirda looked again at the beautiful face, 
and as she looked all hope died out of her 
heart. This imperial beauty was the woman 
her husband loved. He had wooed and won 
her young heart with fair words, had dazzled 
her girlish fancy with his grand-sounding 
name ; but he had deceived her. He had 
married her for the gold she had brought 
him, but he had never truly loved her. All 
his affection had been laid at the feet of this 
dark, queenly beauty. 

Vera, my only love, lost October twen- 
tieth.” 

These few words read like a death-warrant 
to Ouirda, so young, the bride of only a few 
months ! 

She bent her head over the picture and 
wept aloud. It seemed so cruel, so hard to 
bear. Only a half-hour ago she had been 
so happy, romping with her dogs, rejoicing 
that she lived, and so proud of being the 
honored wife of a noble man. But now. 


13 


193 


®utr&a 

the whole world had grown dark and deso- 
late. 

Who was she whom he had so loved? 
Why had she not heard of this beautiful 
woman ? Surely someone must have known 
of her ; such rare attraction could not long 
be hidden. Did her friends know about her, 
and had they all deceived her ? To whom 
could she turn ? Who would tell her the 
truth ? What must she do ? Oh, for one 
true friend to help her now. She was sorely 
in need of wise counsel. 

Ouirda realized that her trials had only 
just begun ; she must mingle with the world 
and not allow this same world to know that 
she was an unloved wife. Her husband 
alone should see that some sudden change 
had come over her — that a dark storm-cloud 
had passed and blotted out her happiness 
forever. 

She laid the portefeuille back on the 
ground with a shiver of pain. She knew that 
the Count was in the habit of smoking his 
cigar in the garden after his coffee in the 
morning, and he had probably been looking 
at the beloved face in his solitary walk, and 

194 


S)e0ttlu0ionee 


had accidentally dropped it. The faithful 
“Zip” had found it, and instantly recognized 
it as something belonging to his master, 
and had called his mistress' attention to it 
in his own peculiar way. 

She sat down in her favorite nook, shel- 
tered from all curious eyes by the overhang- 
ing trees, and tried to think what the future 
had in store for her. Everything seemed so 
dreary and desolate. The dogs came and 
laid their heads in her lap and looked up in 
her face with sad wonderment in their ex- 
pressive eyes. Wearily the Countess arose 
and returned to the house, and sought the 
quietude of her private apartments, trying 
her best to tranquillize her disturbed feelings. 
During the entire afternoon she remained in 
solitude, fighting out her first battle alone. 

That evening they were to have guests at 
dinner, and she resolved that her friends 
should not know her misery. While at her 
toilette she said to her maid, Donalie, “Make 
me as handsome as possible for dinner this 
evening. I wish to look my best.” 

“Ah, Madame, ce n’est pas dificile de vous 
faire belle !” 


195 


©uir&a 


When the Countess descended to the 
drawing-room she never presented a more 
beautiful or brilliant appearance. Her face 
was flushed, and her eyes shone with a fever 
of anxiety and unrest. She was thankful 
that her husband had not yet made his ap- 
pearance, and that she was spared the pain 
of meeting him alone. 

She sought the society of the gayest, and 
was charmingly entertaining. After the din- 
ner was over and the guests had returned to 
the drawing-room, in compliance with an 
urgent request, she seated herself at the 
grand piano and sang for them. Her heart 
seemed to be in her voice, it was so thrillingly 
sad and pathetic. 

She rarely looked at the Count, and only 
once had she met his eyes, and then they 
seemed to have such a puzzled, questioning 
expression in them that she turned away with 
a shiver of apprehension, fearing he had a 
suspicion of her sufferings in spite of all her 
efforts at concealment. 

After the departure of the guests she said, 
‘H am a little weary and will say good-night.” 

The Count came to her at once and ex- 

196 


S)e6iUu6(once 


pressed his sympathy. Ouirda bowed with 
all the stately, dignified grace she could com- 
mand, and appeared not to see his extended 
hand. 

As she passed up the stairs she thought, 
“ Why should I touch his hand? It belongs 
to Vera, his only love, lost to him on my 
wedding-day!’' 

Slowly she ascended to her room, and 
wishing to be alone she dismissed her maid. 
Extinguishing the lights she shook out the 
mass of golden hair that had been coiled 
about her head, and sank down in a large 
arm-chair by the window. Not a sound broke 
the solemn repose of nature. The cool 
breeze of the evening had rocked itself to 
rest on the boughs of the trees, and only the 
waning moon seemed alive as it toiled slowly 
up a cloudless sky, passing through the starry 
sentinels that make up the camp of constel- 
lations. Her eyes were fixed and gloomy. 
The blood beat heavily in her temples as she 
sat motionless, reviewing all that had occurred 
during the day. 

The night was far spent and the moon was 
cradled in the tree-tops when Ouirda arose 

197 


®uir&a 


from her chair. Stretching out her arms she 
fell on her knees, while a passionate, sobbing 
prayer struggled to her lips. 

Oh, my God ! my God ! have pity on 
me ! Help me to bear this great grief, if it 
be Thy will. Oh, my God ! Give me strength 
to do what is right in Thy sight ! 

When the Countess had left the drawing- 
room in such an unusual manner the Count 
stood transfixed and amazed at her cold- 
ness. 

What could have caused such a change ? 
It must be that some rumor connected with 
his past life had come to her ears. But what 
was it? Which particular indiscretion had 
she discovered. She certainly had heard 
something, and was showing him her disap- 
proval. 

He went to his rooms more worried than 
he cared to admit. 

His valet was awaiting him. Tiens ! thought 
the Count. Suppose I question this inquisi- 
tive personage ; he always seems to know 
everything. 

'' Eugene, has the Countess had many call- 
ers to-day ? ” 


198 


De^illuaionee 

“No, Monsieur le Comte, only two, je 
crois/' 

“Who were they? ’’ 

“The Marquise de Verville and her son.’' 

“ When did they call, and did they remain 
long? ” 

“ They came early in the forenoon and only 
remained a few moments. It was just as 
Madame la Comtesse was going out to walk 
with the dogs.” 

“ Do you know whether they called for any 
special purpose? A morning call usually 
means some engagement.” 

“ Mademoiselle Donalie informed me that 
there was some talk about what evening the 
Countess proposed to go to the opera to hear 
the new prima donna.” 

“ Tiens ! Is that so. I had nearly forgot- 
ten about the opera.” 

As Eugene was leaving he said, “ Pardon, 
Monsieur le Comte, but I saw the dogs 
chasing each other in the garden to-day, 
and ' Zip ’ had this portefeuille in his mouth. 
I took it from him, as I knew it belonged to 
Monsieur le Comte.” 

“ Merci, Eugene ! I had not missed it.” 

199 


©uirba 


“I do not think the dog has harmed it/' 
said Eugene, as he handed the portefeuille to 
his master. 

Thanks, I must have dropped it while I 
was smoking my cigar this morning." 

Once alone the Count opened the case and 
saw the contents were all there. The enclosed 
picture dropped to the floor just in the same 
manner that it had done for the Countess in 
the garden. 

It was all explained. No need to question 
anyone now. 

His wife had found the portefeuille while 
walking in the garden with the dogs that morn- 
ing. She had seen the photograph, and the 
idiotic words he had written on the back 
when he foolishly thought he was making a 
martyr of himself for gold. 

Why will a man be such a fool as to write 
anything he feels ! If he only would wait 
twenty-four hours his feelings would change, 
and nothing would induce him to write what 
he felt yesterday. 

To be sure, he did feel wretchedly unhappy 
when he had parted from Vera, and she had 
given him the picture. He thought the part- 


200 


Beeilluatonee 


ing was to be for all time. He had loved 
her, and had been grateful to her for the as- 
sistance she had rendered him when his own 
resources had failed him. He never imagined 
it would be so easy to regain her love. 

“I suppose I am a villain,” he mused. 
“ But I am no worse than hundreds of others. 
The Countess is not a Frenchwoman. The 
French women understand and expect un- 
faithfulness. I have been a fool and an idiot. 
I am free from annoying debts, and live a 
life of luxury. I should have been more 
adroit. You are a weak fool, mon vieux. I 
suppose the Countess will never forgive me. 
She has such rigid, Puritanical notions of right 
and wrong. Soit, it was sure to come, sooner 
or later. What will she do ? She has already 
showed me that she will be cold and reserved. 
My only hope is in her pride, for she will not 
want the world to know it. Eh bien ! If she 
maintains her lofty manners with me I shall 
go my way. I have resumed my relations 
with Vera, and, of course, she will soon learn 
of it. Apres tout ga m’est egal.” 


CHAPTER XVI. 


L’AMOUR, FRENCH AND RUSSIAN 

** Love is a pearl of purest hue. 

But stormy waves are round it ; 

And dearly may a woman rue 
The hour that first she found it.*’ 


N the years previous to his 
marriage, while the Count 
de Sarzeau was experienc- 
ing the inconvenience of a 
straitened income, he re- 
sorted to many ways of 
amusing himself. 

When he had been suc- 
cessful at cards, or at the races, he would 
mingle with his own world, and be the most 
brilliant member therein. But when his 
purse was light he often diverted himself by 
dressing in the garb of a poor artist, and 
visiting chums of his in the Latin quarter, 
where pleasure and amusement could be had 
cheaply. He frequently attended their balls, 
suppers, and other social gatherings, and 



202 


X^Hmour, frencb an& IRuaeian 

would enjoy himself as much as any of them. 
Sometimes his friend Armand de Bossier 
would accompany him ; and, as they were 
unusually handsome men, this fortunate cir- 
cumstance, and their savoir faire, insured 
them a warm welcome wherever they chose 
to go. 

One day the Count met a pretty little 
“ innocente,’' and spoke to her. He ascer- 
tained that she was a seamstress, and worked 
daily in the establishment of Madame Lau- 
rent, in the Rue Lafitte, and that her name 
was Nannette Domeyer. In his garb as an 
artisan he contrived to meet her frequently 
as she was going to and from her work. At 
first Nannette was timid, but her new friend’s 
manner was so honest and frank that she 
was rapidly disarmed of her fears, and they 
soon became companions. Many evenings, 
instead of going directly to her home in 
Montmartre, she would take a walk with her 
new friend, Philip — as he called himself — in 
some of the many parks or gardens so con- 
veniently placed in Paris. He would enter- 
tain her by relating many amusing anecdotes, 
and in return she told him all about herself 


203 


®uir&a 


and her family. If by any chance she was 
late in arriving at her home, it was very easy 
to say that she had been detained by Madame 
Laurent, pour finir quelque chose. 

Their meetings became more frequent, yet 
they always appeared to Nannette to be 
purely accidental. How could she imagine 
that they had been well planned by her 
handsome but unscrupulous lover, Monsieur 
Philip ? 

During the promenade one day they wan- 
dered along until they reached the Tuileries. 
They entered the garden, with its fountains 
and statues and green arcades, and joined 
the glittering crowd moving to and fro. 
Children, followed by white-capped nurses, 
scampered along the paths; people were 
seated under the spreading chestnut trees, 
reading or gossiping, while numberless 
others strolled along. Birds twittered in the 
boughs of the trees, and flowers gleamed 
along the borders, filling the air with deli- 
cious fragrance. 

In Paris nobody is observed — unless it be 
a pretty woman, quite alone — and Philip and 
Nannette soon found the nook of which they 

204 


X^Hmour, frencb an& 1 Ru 60 tan 

were in search, a pleasant seat just large 
enough for two, under the shade of the trees, 
with a fountain playing not far off and a 
group of statuary in front. 

He filled her thrilling ears with flattery, 
told her she was very pretty, and how much 
he loved her. It was very sweet to Nannette 
to have this handsome Philip compliment 
her, and she bent her head and blushed with 
confusion. He told her that she was far too 
pretty to sew all day, and that she ought to 
have some amusement. 

Don’t you think you could arrange af- 
fairs so that you could have a half-holiday 
to-morrow ? We would take a little trip into 
the country.” 

Nannette was delighted with the idea, and 
said she thought she could get away for a 
half-day. 

‘‘That will just suit me, for I can only get 
a half-day from my work,” said Philip. 

In a frightened way she asked, “ Tell me, 
Philip, how can it be done? What shall I 
say to Madame?” 

“Tell her that you are obliged to go home 
at noon, and ask her for a half-day off.” 

205 


©uir&a 


‘4 am almost afraid !” 

‘*Try it, Nannette. I will wait for you at 
the Pont de la Concorde to-morrow at noon/’ 

Nannette hesitated and looked shyly up 
into his face. 

Observing this he said to her : 

“You surely won’t refuse me one afternoon, 
ma chere Nannette ; we will take the boat for 
Saint Cloud, and have a jolly afternoon in 
the country. You will come, won’t you, ma 
belle?” 

A look of confidence and assent was his 
answer. 

She met him at the appointed hour with a 
smile, but her heart filled with emotion that 
nearly overcame her. They took one of the 
omnibus boats that ply up and down the 
River Seine, and started on their journey. 

Nannette looked as fresh as a rose. She 
had an innate genius for dress, making her- 
self attractive, with the merest trifle, in a 
simple cotton dress and a flower in her 
hat. 

What a delightful ride that was to Nan- 
nette ! The pure air, the waving trees, and 
the ever-changing banks of the river glide 

206 



filling her glass often 7vith that 
sparkling, atnber ivine. 








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ft V ,, 


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• w 



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irr^»- 


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X^amour, frencb anb IRueeian 

past. The quays, the arches of the bridges ; 
then came the suburbs, with their boats at 
the landings, and their many little restau- 
rants. They went ashore and wandered 
under the shade of the chestnut trees. 

Philip told Nannette again and again how 
much he loved her — told her so often and 
so earnestly that he half-believed it himself. 

And how could the trusting Nannette 
know that he was lying. In listening to him 
words failed her, and she could only look up 
with eyes full of love and trust. 

Ah, handsome Philip ! There was little 
need of the look of triumph in your face — 
your victory was assured. 

Madness was wildly raging in his libertine 
blood as he gazed into her trusting eyes. 

The waiter of the restaurant announces 
dinner, and they enter a small, pretty room 
overlooking the river. 

It had been a warm afternoon, and the 
cool room was inviting. They played at eat- 
ing their dinner. Philip served Nannette 
himself, filling her glass often with that deli- 
ciously cool, sparkling, amber wine, that she 
drinks for the first time. Its effects are soon 


207 


©uir&a 


apparent. She leans back on the cushions 
of the divan upon which she is seated. 

'' It is very warm here,” says Philip. “ The 
glare of the sun on the water is annoying. I 
will draw the curtain.” 

The room suddenly grew dark, or had she 
fainted ! Nannette only knew that her lover 
was kissing her. There are moments that 
can never be recalled ! 

Oh, perverse and inconstant man ! Plead- 
ing with persuasive eloquence for the boon 
that, if granted, leaves a memory upon your 
heart, an ineffaceable shadow that you can 
never evade. 

And woman — young, innocent, unprotected 
— know that man has no pity for you, though 
he may worship, uttering adulation with every 
breath, while you stand upon your pedestal 
of virtue. 

Woe if you descend from thence ! 

Though in his eyes you be divine, the man 
comprehends what the downward step means 
to you. The charm you exercise over him 
vanishes because you are fallen, and all 
heaven’s graces can never reinstate you in 
his estimation. 


208 


X^amour, 3frencb ant) IRueaian 

Nannette lifts her head from its resting- 
place, and looks at her lover. A wave of 
shame comes over her at the thought of the 
last few moments. She feels the sin of her 
transgression, and wishes she could die at 
once. 

In her eyes Philip is not a libertine nor a 
villain. 

He consoles her, and tells her that she 
will be his wife — sometime. 

She believes him — women always do. 

The sun sank quite out of sight and its 
red memories still lingered in the sky as they 
returned to Paris. 

Philip rented a small apartment, where 
they frequently met. Nannette supposes 
that he lives there, and whenever she can 
steal a half-hour from her work she goes to 
visit him. 

Nannette is adorable for a while. Then 
she begins to ask questions. When will he 
go with her to see her parents ? For they 
must get permission to enable them to be 
married. Philip has plausible excuses and 
tells her she must wait. 

On one of her visits she is more than 


14 


209 


®ulr&a 


usually importunate, and they quarrel. He 
tells her that he is very poor and cannot af- 
ford to get married ; that he will not be un- 
kind to her. 

Nannette grows still more angry, and 
accuses him of not loving her as much as he 
did. She declared that he had ceased to 
tell her how pretty she is. Finally, she 
bursts into tears. 

Philip consoled her, but she was still sullen. 
She wished to go to balls and to the theatre. 

He tells her it is not possible ; that he is 
poor and has so little money. 

Nannette pouts, and hints that there are 
other men who think her pretty ; and if he 
has ceased to find her so, she can go to the 
theatre without him. 

With this taunt she flung herself out of 
the room. She was determined that if Philip 
refused to take her out, she would find a 
new lover who would take her to the theatres 
and the bal Bullier. 

After Nannette left him in a rage the 
Count laughed to himself. 

“ Make a good bourgeois husband of my- 
self? Indeed ! Oh, no ! Par exemple !’' 


210 


X'Hmour, jfrencb anb IRuaeian 

His love for Nannette had already waned. 
He was usually lucky in his amours, and he 
had no regrets, no remorse. This girl was 
only one more ; what did it matter ! 

Remorse? Oh, no! No such sentiment 
for him. It may be a persistent shadow in 
the poet’s metrical romance, or the drama- 
tist’s tragic story ; but in the great world, in 
the pleasant world, in the world of distraction 
and of society, remorse is only a faint mist 
that at rare intervals dims some part of the 
luminous sky, and melts away in the presence 
of wealth, fashion, or a later social sensation. 

The Count decided to give up the apart- 
ment at once. If Mademoiselle Nannette 
returned — an event very much to be doubted 
— she would find no trace of Philip. He 
would have ceased to exist. 

Back to his own world the Count returned, 
with careless nonchalance, to play baccarat at 
his club and to forget the episode with Nan- 
nette. 

Since his fortunate marriage he had been 
able to live as he pleased, without any annoy- 
ing thought as to resources. 

His past life was far away, and his pecuni- 


2II 


®vtir&a 


ary troubles equally distant. To be sure, of 
late, he had had several unpleasant reminders 
and frequent calls from his impecunious ac- 
quaintances of the olden time. Some of them 
were just in their demands, but others were 
not. As rapidly as possible he disposes of 
all claims by accepting them. In a few in- 
stances he sought out deserving claimants 
and generously evidenced his appreciation of 
their former kindness to him. 

Some weeks after his return to Paris he 
sat in his library overlooking his correspond- 
ence. One letter he read with intense eager- 
ness. He read it a second time, and then 
placed it in his portefeuille, murmuring, 
shall see her to-day — yes, to-day 

He finished all his letters, and sat think- 
ing over what was best to do. He wrote a 
note to his wife, telling her he had an engage- 
ment with some gentlemen and that he might 
be detained late. 

He then rang for his valet. 

“Eugene, give this note to Donalie, the 
Countess' maid, and then you can take a 
holiday, as I shall not return home until this 
evening." 


212 


X^amour, jjfrencb anb IRuaeian 

He left the house, going to the Maison 
Doree for his luncheon. The hours passed 
much too slowly. He had read the papers. 
There was nothing more left to do. Looking 
at his watch, he left the cafe hurriedly, crossed 
the boulevard, and down the Rue de Choi- 
seuil into the Rue de Richelieu. He went 
circuitously, yet ever toward the river, like a 
man who has a rendezvous, but is in advance 
of the hour. 

And such was the fact. He had written a 
letter to his former mistress, Vera Paltovitch, 
some days since, making a request that she 
would allow him to call upon her, and this 
morning he had received her reply, asking 
him to come to her at three o’clock that 
afternoon. 

Eagerly he turned into the street he was 
seeking, and arrived at the house that had 
been in his thoughts for hours. Entering 
the vestibule all was new to him. The hall, 
with its flooring of inlaid woods, strewn with 
costly rugs, its portieres of sapphire velvet, 
and stands of hot-house blossoms, all was 
new and extravagant. He questioned him- 
self. 


213 


®ufr&a 


“ Has the grand mistress of all this ele- 
gance changed as much as her surroundings 
since I saw her last?” 

And the knowledge that all this luxury and 
affluence had probably been the gift, and for 
the entertainment of some favored lover, 
perhaps more valued than he had ever been, 
was gall and wormwood to his vanity and 
pride. 

The flunky, in his crimson and gold livery, 
was awaiting his pleasure, with his silver tray 
in his hand. De Sarzeau placed a card on 
the tray. The mercury in plush read the 
name, then stared at the Count in undisguised 
amazement. The next moment, however, 
there came into his powdered head a remem- 
brance of special orders that had been given 
to him the day before, and he said, respect- 
fully : 

Will Monsieur be so kind as to step into 
the reception-room while I take his card to 
Madame.” 

The Count was kept waiting only a mo- 
ment before he was shown into the presence 
of his old love, Vera. She stood in the 
centre of the room. For a moment they 

214 


X'Hmour, jfrcncb anb IRueeian 

remain silent, then she slowly raises her arms 
toward him, and he clasps her in a warm, 
loving embrace ! 

“ En fin ! Vous etes revenu ! I have been 
waiting so long for you, but I knew you 
would come.” 

‘^Forgive — forgive me, my dear Vera ! I 
have tried to live without you, but I can- 
not.” 

Vera Paltovitch, the Russian woman, so 
long the mistress of the Count de Sarzeau, 
again holds her empire over his destinies. 

‘‘You are looking pale, Vera,” said the 
Count. “ Are you ill ?” 

“No, not now, but I have been. I shall 
be quite well again ; well and happy. Your 
coming will do more for me than all the doc- 
tor’s medicine.” 

“ Don’t flatter me, Vera. I do not deserve 
it.” 

“I shall not flatter you, Raoul, dear. You 
know I never did. Although I have lived 
here among you French people some time I 
have not yet acquired this much-to-be-desired 
art. You know that we Russians do not ad- 
mire such frivolous vanities. Our feelings 


®uirt)a 


are not all on the surface — we are deep and 
dark, passionate and persistent/’ 

Long they talk together, and the old con- 
fidence was once more restored. 

The clocks of Paris were chiming the 
small hours when the Count de Sarzeau re- 
gained his home in the Faubourg Saint 
Germain. 


216 


CHAPTER XVII. 


AT THE GRAND OPERA 

“ Le Souvenir, tr^sor celeste. 
Ombre des bien.s qui ne sont plus, 
Est encore un bonheur qui reste 
Apr^s tous ceux qu’on a perdu.*’ 


FTER the discovery of the 
picture in the garden no 
change was observable in 
the reserved manners of 
the Count and his wife, but 
from that day there fell a 
certain shadow of restraint 
between them. In him, 
the consciousness of wrong and error 
committed was a daily burden ; into her, 
the anguish of doubt had entered like an in- 
jected poison. 

Uneasily he affected a serenity he could not 
command. 

Vainly she tried to cultivate and show a 
faith she was unable to feel. 

The restlessness of conscious disloyalty 
217 



®u(r^a 


was on him. He absents himself as much as 
possible from his home, and does not trouble 
himself to make any excuses. He spends 
much of his time at his club, where his card- 
playing is recklessness itself, and his wine- 
drinking is much in excess of his usual 
custom. 

The Countess has kept her resolution. 
The world shall not know from her that she 
is an unloved wife. She keeps her engage- 
ments as usual. 

Her friend, the Marquise de Verville, sees 
plainly that there is trouble and sorrow in her 
young friend’s life, and she fears for her 
future happiness ; but she asks no questions, 
and no explanations are offered. She calls 
frequently to see the Countess, and tries to 
show her that she is always her best friend. 
They ride together daily. They have ar- 
ranged to attend the grand opera on the 
same evening, and the Countess has re- 
quested her guardian to be one of the party. 
Of late his ward has asked him frequently 
to go out with her, and he does not quite 
understand why she should need him for an 
escort. Once, only, he asked her where her 

2lS 


at tbe (Branb ®pera 

husband kept himself, and the sudden pallor 
that overspread her face and the troubled 
look that came into her eyes surprised and 
pained him, and he resolved not to question 
her any more, knowing that in good time 
Ouirda would tell him all her troubles. 

After the suspicion had entered his mind 
that all was not well with her, he did not wait 
to be sent for, but went frequently to see her, 
and was always ready to be her escort. In 
the meantime he was not satisfied to remain 
indifferent to the state of affairs in the de 
Sarzeau menage. He informed himself in a 
quiet way of the manner in which the Count 
was living. He ascertained that he was 
rarely at home, and seldom slept there ; that 
he spent much of his time at the club, partook 
very freely of stimulants, and that his even- 
ings were usually passed at the house of the 
Russian woman. The Doctor kept his own 
counsel, and silently watched over his be- 
loved ward with a father’s care, waiting for 
her to speak the first word. And when that 
word should come she would find him ready 
to defend and protect her from all that could 
harm her, even from her husband. He felt 


219 


©utr&a 


that some evil was impending, and his watch- 
fulness never ceased. 

The beau-monde of Paris is enjoying an 
unusually brilliant opera season. To-night 
a great star in the musical firmament is to 
sing in a popular opera, and every box and 
all the fauteuils d’orchestre are filled. One 
box alone on the first tier is empty, and toward 
it many lorgnettes from the occupants of the 
boxes and orchestra chairs are frequently 
directed. 

The orchestra had finished the grand over- 
ture, the prima donna has appeared, has sung 
her first aria, and has been rapturously ap- 
plauded. The vast audience is paying little 
attention to the noisy chorus which follows, 
and is waiting for the next favorite to appear, 
when the door of the empty box is opened, 
and the Marquise de Verville comes slowly 
to the front of the box. She is followed by 
the beautiful Countess de Sarzeau, who is 
still the belle of the Parisian world. The 
Countess' guardian, the celebrated Doctor 
Campbell, and the Marquis Gaston de Ver- 
ville accompany the ladies, and truly they 
make a distinguished group. 


220 


Ht tbe (Branb ®pera 

The Countess stood for one moment 
motionless, gazing down and around with a 
careless air upon the fashionable multitude 
with which the vast auditorium is crowded. 
Standing thus together — the distinguished- 
looking, white-haired Marquise and the brill- 
iant young beauty — they present a striking 
picture. The Marquise is a splendid type of 
the haute noblesse, but the Countess is the 
centre of attraction. Her tall, graceful 
figure, her fine complexion, her large, ex- 
pressive blue eyes, and her wonderful hair, 
through which the touch of gold runs so 
brightly, complete a picture that inspires uni- 
versal admiration. 

The Countess is aristocratic, almost haughty 
in appearance to-night. Every feature and 
her whole bearing are marked with a melan- 
choly that seems to check the smile that rarely 
seeks to dissipate the sad seriousness of her 
lovely face. 

As usual she is dressed with exquisite 
taste, the color of her robe being pale wood- 
violets. She carries a fan, large and white, 
which is decorated with painted violets and 
flecked with brilliants, and a large bouquet 


221 


®uir&a 


of sweet violets rests upon the cushion-rail 
in front of her. She is artistically perfect in 
appearance and stately in every look and 
movement. 

“What a success you are, Countess,'’ said 
the Marquise fondly. “ Even the occupants 
of the royal box noticed your entrance.” 

“ Royalty frequently has spasms of rude- 
ness,” replied the Countess, and both ladies 
turn their attention to the stage. 

Two young men seated in the orchestra 
chairs below have been looking at the ladies, 
and they turn and speak together. 

“Who is she? ” asked the younger of the 
two. ‘ ‘ I have j ust returned to Paris, you know, 
after a year in Algiers. Tell me who she is ? ” 

“ Wait until the act is over and we are out 
in the foyer, then we can talk,” said his com- 
panion in a whisper. 

As the curtain goes down at the end of the 
act a large portion of the audience go out to 
promenade in that magnificent room, the 
foyer of the Grand Opera House. Among 
the throng are the two young gentlemen from 
the orchestra chairs. The younger man is 
all eagerness to know the name of that vision 


at tbe (Btanb ®pera 

of wondrous beauty that his friend told him 
had captured all Paris. 

“ Now tell me, cher Dunois, who is she ? 

His companion rather enjoys his impa- 
tience, and replies slowly : 

“ Mon cher de Lusac, you ask who she is? 
She is the new beauty, par excellence, of the 
season, the young bride of the Count Raoul 
de Sarzeau. She is beautiful, a great heir- 
ess, wonderfully accomplished ; but, I am 
compelled to tell you, she is not of the no- 
bility — she is only an American girl.'’ 

‘‘ Nobility ! ” repeats Monsieur de Lusac. 
“ But look at her ! Look at her profile ; look 
at her hands, and then talk of nobility ! It 
is indisputable that that charming American 
Countess, with the most irreproachable nose 
and the haughtiest mouth in Christendom, is 
more noble than all your much-vaunted blue- 
blood aristocracy.” 

Monsieur Dunois smiles at de Lusac’s en- 
thusiasm. 

“ They do not have very ancient families 
in America, you know. They are all a little 
shaky in ancestry — however rich they may 
become — few can tell what their origin was. 

223 


©uirba 


You noticed the lady who was with her, the 
Marquise de Verville. It was she who dis- 
covered and brought out this jewel of great 
price — wealth, I mean — for her fortune is 
colossal they say. She was a young girl at 
school at the Convent of the Sacred Heart, 
at the same time that the Marquise's only 
daughter. Mademoiselle Jeanne, was there, 
and they were great friends. The two young 
ladies made their debut together last spring, 
and Mademoiselle Jeanne was snapped up 
by the Viscount de Bruil, and they were mar- 
ried in a hurry and off to Egypt or the antip- 
odes on their wedding-trip in less than two 
weeks. It was whispered that the Marquise 
hoped to have secured this young beauty and 
her fortune for her daughter-in-law, by mar- 
rying her to her son, that patrician paragon 
of elegance, the Marquis Gaston, but the 
fair girl was captivated by the handsome 
Count de Sarzeau, and he won her away 
from a score of admirers. The young Mar- 
quis Gaston was terribly cut up over it, but 
he has behaved admirably ever since. He 
is always to be seen in her train of most 
respectful admirers." 


224 


Ht tbe 0ranb ©pera 

‘‘Where is the Count, I wonder? How 
can he remain away from the society of so 
lovely a woman as his wife ? 

“Don’t ask me. I hear ugly stories of 
him?” 

At the well-known signal the promenaders 
all return to their seats, refreshed by their 
promenade and chat, and quite ready to 
enjoy the rest of the opera. 

Something was attracting the attention of 
the audience to a box directly opposite to 
that occupied by the Marquise de Verville 
and the Countess de Sarzeau. They all turn 
their lorgnettes from one side of the house to 
the other, and can scarcely believe what their 
eyes so plainly see. Seated conspicuously in 
front of the box is the Count de Sarzeau, 
and beside him a gorgeously beautiful woman, 
with dark, flashing eyes, dark hair, and a 
brilliant complexion. She looks radiant with 
triumph and satisfaction, and appears totally 
indifferent to the many opera-glasses that are 
turned toward her. She has eyes only for 
her attendant cavalier and the diva on the 
stage. 

Her costume was rich, black satin, made with 

IS 225 


©uit&a 


square-cut bodice, and short sleeves, ruffled 
round with fine, black lace, which relieved the 
warm, creamy whiteness of her neck and 
arms, and a scarf of the same rich lace was 
knotted loosely around her hips. All the 
color in her costume was concentrated in a 
great cluster of roses, fastened against one 
side of her bosom — roses of every hue, from 
palest yellow to deepest crimson, nestling in 
their own bronzed leaves, and glowing out 
from that shelter with a luxuriance and vivid- 
ness which was wonderfully striking and 
beautiful. 

The woman who wore those roses needed 
no adornment. Nay, even the rose that 
nestled among the coils of her dark, mag- 
nificent hair seemed like an impertinence 
in attempting * to distract the eye from the 
queenly splendor of its sisters. 

The Countess looks earnestly at her hus- 
band, then at the woman beside him. At 
once she recognizes the “loved and lost 
Vera,’* and a conviction of all it portended 
came over her. By a great effort she con- 
trols her emotions. 

Her guardian sits behind her chair watch- 

226 


Ht tbe (Brant) ®pera 

ing this wretched comedy, played not on the 
stage but in real life. 

The Marquis Gaston had pleaded an en- 
gagement at the end of the first act, and for- 
tunately he was spared the pain and mortifi- 
cation of witnessing the insult to the Countess. 
It was also a relief to her, as well as to his 
mother, that he had gone. They both remain 
quietly in their chairs, with their attention all 
given to the artists on the stage, until the end 
of the opera. 

Not one word is spoken either by her 
guardian or the Marquise. 

At parting the Countess silently presses 
the Marquise’s hand, and to her guardian she 
says : 

Au revoir, a demain, n’est ce pas ! ” 

He understands. 

The Countess returns to her magnificent 
home. The blow has fallen. She now knows 
that every semblance of harmony or respect 
between her husband and herself is ended. 

The Count had openly insulted her, and 
said to the world, “ I prefer my Russian mis- 
tress to my wife.” 

Well,I must submit,” thought the unhappy 
227 


©uir&a 


woman. '‘My suspicions were not wrong. 
My pride has sustained me thus far, and I 
will still be silent. She resolved that she 
must make one exception. She must confide 
in her guardian. She must humiliate herself 
and tell him all the wretched truth.” 

Donalie, her maid, assisted her to disrobe, 
and she retired, but not to sleep ; her misery 
would not allow her eyes to close. She 
longed for the morning. Now that she has 
decided to tell her guardian her troubles she 
was impatient to do so ; and she hoped he 
would show her some means by which she 
could still live. 

She lay there thinking it over and over 
again. 

How sympathizing the good Marquise was, 
without one word, only the warm, lingering 
clasp of her hand at parting. 

She was thankful that Gaston had left the 
opera before the arrival of the Count and 
that woman. Then she thought of the stern 
expression on her old guardian’s face. What 
would come of it all ? 

The morning came at last, and with a heavy 
heart the Countess awaited the arrival of her 


228 


Ht tbe (Brant) ©pera 

guardian. It was yet early, but she felt that 
her good friend would not linger for conven- 
tionalities, but would soon be with her. She 
was right. His card was brought into her 
as if in answer to her thoughts and wishes. 
She received him in her boudoir, and gave 
orders that she was not to be disturbed. 

The Doctor takes her feverish hands in his 
own. “ My poor child, tell me all your trou- 
bles. You can be silent no longer.'' 

She then told him all. Of the finding of 
the picture, of her husband’s subsequent de- 
meanor, and of his never seeking her society 
since the evening of their dinner-party, on 
the same day that she found the photograph 
in the garden. That he had not offered any 
sort of an explanation, and that he absented 
himself from home for days together. All 
the pitiful story was told without a tear, but 
with a heartrending sadness in her voice and 
manner. Many of these miserable details 
the doctor was familiar with from his recent 
investigations. However, he tried to com- 
fort the heart-broken woman. 

“I must think it all over calmly and decide 
what must be done." 


229 


©utr^a 


Dear guardian, nothing can be done. One 
might repress love, or curse hate, but what 
can be done with indifference ? 

*‘You must be brave, my dear Ouirda ; 
take no decisive steps until you see me again. 
I will come soon, day after to-morrow. I will 
only require one day to accomplish what I 
desire.’' 

What are you going to do, dear guar- 
dian ? Won’t you tell me ? ” 

‘‘Why, certainly I will tell you. I shall 
send a messenger to the Count requesting 
him to call at my office to-morrow in the 
afternoon. I shall demand an explanation 
from him, and he must tell me what he means 
by insulting you publicly. After I have an 
interview with him I will come and see you 
and tell you the result. And now, my dear 
child, compose yourself and receive none of 
your friends except the Marquise de Verville. 
She has been like a mother to you, and I am 
quite sure she will call. Do not hesitate to 
trust her, as she is worthy of all your confi- 
dence. And now, God bless you. Au re- 
voir.’' 

The Doctor left the house with his mind 


230 


at tbe 0ranl) ®pera 

greatly disturbed, and with a feeling of appre^ 
hension for the future of his ward. 

• ‘ What a change there is in that dear girl 
since a few short weeks ago,’’ he said to him- 
self. How true it is that a woman begins 
to grow old as soon as her dream of love is 
over.” 

After her guardian’s departure the Count- 
ess lay back upon the cushioned couch, her 
sad eyes fixed upon the dancing firelight in 
the open grate, with an expression on her face 
of resigned weariness. 

Her maid came softly into the room and 
said that the Marquise de Verville begged to 
be admitted. 

‘‘ I am glad she has come ; show her up at 
once.” 

The Marquise came in, took Ouirda in her 
arms, and said lovingly : 

** I could not remain away, dear.” 

“ Oh, thank you so much for coming ! I 
was longing to see you. I must tell you, dear 
Marquise, all the wretchedness that has come 
to me. I have just had a long talk with Dr. 
Campbell; he knows everything, and he ad- 
vised me to confide in you.” 

231 


®utrt)a 


The Marquise looked with sorrowing eyes 
at the changed appearance of this beautiful 
woman. Every vestige of girlhood had died 
within her; even the lovely pink color had 
faded from her cheeks, and the youthful light- 
ness from her step. 

I am so glad that you will let me share 
your sorrows. I have always felt a mother’s 
love for you.” 

Again the Countess went over the miser- 
able story of her troubles. Silently the Mar- 
quise listened to it all, and gave the unhappy 
woman what comfort and consolation she 
could. 

Then she told her of the interview she had 
with her son that morning after their break- 
fast — that she had described to him the scene 
at the opera. 

Gaston was terribly incensed that the Count 
had inflicted so outrageous an indignity on 
his wife, and said he must have been beside 
himself with drink. Even if that were the 
case it was no excuse for such an insult. He 
should go to the club and wait there for the 
Count and request an explanation from him, 
for the Countess had long been his mother’s 
2^2 


at tbe (Brant) ©pera 

guest, his sister’s best friend, and a member 
of their family, and he should act as a brother 
for her. 

“ Gaston said that he had an engagement 
to dine with friends to-day, and for me to 
come here to see you, and I will be glad to 
remain with you, if you wish me to,” said the 
Marquise. 

Oh, will you remain with me ? I am so 
glad ! ” exclaimed Ouirda. 

“We will have a quiet day together, and, 
if possible, forget what is unpleasant. We 
will talk of dear Jeanne, n’est ce pas ? ” 

How little did those two women realize 
what the next day would bring to them. 


233 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


KIDNAPPED IN THE AVENUE DU BOIS DE BOULOGNE 

** What are we waiting for, you and I, 

A pleading look— a stifled cry !" 


T was one of those perfect 
autumn days. All yester- 
day the rain fell heavily 
with a steady downpour that 
drenched the world, render- 
ing the Bois de Boulogne a 
lonely wilderness and the 
Champs Elysees deserted. 

To-day the sun, as though weary of yes- 
terday’s inaction, is out again, going his busy 
round and casting his warm beams on rich 
and poor, simple and wise, alike. The Avenue 
du Bois de Boulogne is crowded, filled to 
overflowing, with the gaily-dressed throng 
that has come out to bask in the glad warmth 
of the sunshine and revel in the sense of 
well-being, engendered by the softness and 
234 



1kit)nappe& 

sweetness of the passing breeze. A faint 
languor, born of the increasing heat, per- 
vades the air, and a gentle wind dances gaily 
hither and thither, wooing with tender touch 
each object it passes. 

The occupants of the chairs along the 
avenues seem drowsily inclined. One woman, 
unmindful of the rumble of the carriages 
that pass and repass incessantly, has fallen 
into a sound and refreshing slumber, made 
musical by snores, low and deep. Seated 
near her is a lovely, dark-eyed girl, who seems 
lost in a profound revery. She is aristo- 
cratic, almost haughty in appearance, a clear, 
colorless skin that adds brilliancy to her large, 
expressive eyes. She is not annoyed by her 
sleeping companion. She carelessly regards 
the nurse-girls, whose attractive costumes, 
and caps witl^. wide ribbons hanging down 
their backs, are so becoming, as they pass 
along with their daintily-dressed charges, or 
the many promenaders that are enjoying that 
fashionable thoroughfare. 

Suddenly all are aroused by the rapid ap- 
proach of a carriage drawn by two spirited 
horses. It halts near the beautiful girl and 
235 


®utrt)a 


her drowsy companion. A tall, handsome 
gentleman alighted with great rapidity, seized 
the young girl and quickly thrust her into the 
carriage, stepping hastily in himself, while 
another gentleman closed the door, then 
sprang up beside the coachman, and the 
carriage was rapidly driven away in the 
direction of the Bois. 

It happened so suddenly and unexpectedly 
that no one could realize that a young lady 
had been kidnapped. 

Madame Foret, la dame de compagnie of 
the belle demoiselle, was aroused from her 
slumbers in time to see the young lady put 
into the carriage and to recognize the tall, 
handsome gentleman as the one whom they 
habitually met at mass a la Madeleine, and 
who knelt so devotedly near her charge. 

^*Oh ! Mon Dieu ! Mon Dieu !” she cried. 

They have taken my Mademoiselle ! What 
shall I do ? Mon Dieu !’' 

Soon a crowd of promenaders gathered 
around her, trying to understand her inco- 
herent cries and sobs. 

The suddenness of the strange proceedings 
had so unnerved the bystanders that they 

236 


Ikibnappeb 

could not collect their thoughts or energies 
sufficiently to render service to the distracted 
woman. 

The enlevement was well-timed, not a 
sergent-de-ville being in sight at the moment. 
Soon, however, one and then another ap- 
peared on the scene, all talking at once, 
wildly gesticulating, and, as usual, doing 
nothing. They questioned poor Madame 
Foret, and listened to her explanations, which 
she managed to give between sobs and lam- 
entations, aided and assisted by one and 
another of the crowd that had assembled. 

All the information the police could gain 
was that Mademoiselle Dolores de la Cortes, 
a rich Cuban heiress and orphan, had been 
kidnapped on the Avenue du Bois de Bou- 
logne by Armand de Bossier, a well-known 
Parisian gallant. The police could ascertain 
but little about him, save that he was tall, 
young, and good-looking, and that he was 
a member of the ^‘Jockey Club.’' Someone 
said that they had heard him remark that he 
was going to marry a rich young lady. This 
was true, and Monsieur de Bossier had al- 
ready made some unsuccessful attempts to 
237 


©u^r^a 


attain his wishes in this respect ; this time he 
was determined not to fail in his plans, coute 
que coute. 

The carriage has long disappeared from 
sight, and the police are still wondering and 
talking of what course it would be best to 
take. While they are still undecided we 
will follow the carriage. 

Mademoiselle de la Cortes reclined uncon- 
scious on the carriage cushions, and Armand 
tried by various means to revive her. He 
removed her gloves, pressed her hands, 
and detaching a carved ivory fan that hung 
from a gold chain at her side — that second 
tongue of every Spanish woman — he tried 
by fanning her to restore her to life again. 
The pallor of her face brought remorse to 
his soul for one moment, as he thought of 
what might happen if the shock proved fatal. 
Then his thoughts took a more material 
form. Her beauty was a powerful attraction, 
but her immense wealth was the incentive 
that had made him resolve that she must 
become his wife. 

Gradually Dolores came back to life. She 
opened her eyes and started up. 

238 


1k(^nappe& 

“ Where am I ? Dios mio ! Is it all a 
frightful dream ?” 

One glance at the handsome face bending 
over her, and she recognized the gentleman 
who was such a devout attendant at mass at 
the Church de la Madeleine. Her pale face 
was instantly suffused with blushes at the 
memory of the many furtive glances that 
passed between them while at their devo- 
tions. 

“ Calmez-vous, Mademoiselle,’' said Ar- 
mand, “you are with friends. My mother 
and sister are waiting for you at the villa ; 
we will soon be there. Please do not look 
at me so reproachfully. I love you ! I would 
give my life rather than give you a moment’s 
pain,” and he gently pressed the cold, quiver- 
ing hands of the frightened girl. 

She listened, and seemed to be under an 
influence that she could not explain. And 
as the impassioned Armand pressed a light 
kiss upon her hands, she slowly withdrew 
them. 

Armand continued : 

“ Tell me you do not hate me for this ; let 
me be your slave, your devoted, humble 
239 


©uir&a 


slave/’ And not minding the limited space 
in the carriage for a tragic attitude, he threw 
himself at her feet, and implored her in the 
mosl pathetic manner to pardon him. 

At this moment the carriage stopped, and 
his friend Emile, who had mounted beside 
the coachman, opened the door of the car- 
riage. 

Nous voici !” 

The carriage was in front of an exquisite 
little villa situated among the trees at the 
extreme end of the Bois. 

On the veranda stood a lady of middle 
age, stately in appearance, with a kindly face, 
shaded by beautiful gray hair. It is Madame 
de Bossier, the mother of Armand. She 
welcomed the trembling girl with motherly 
tenderness, and conducted her into a pretty 
salon furnished in pale blue and gold-colored 
damask. The open window looked out upon 
a garden, with the trees of the Bois de Bou- 
logne for a background. 

On entering the room a young girl came 
forward and gently embraced Dolores. 

“Welcome, dear. My brother Armand 
has told me all about you, and je vous aime 

240 


Ikibnappeb 

deja comme une soeur, I will do all I can to 
make you happy. You will not be an orphan 
any more ; you will have a mamma and a 
sister, c’est moi, oui, cherie, we will all love 
you.’' And Marie kissed Dolores again. 

‘‘Come,” continued Marie, “I want to 
show you what a pretty room we have,” and, 
taking Dolores by the hand, she led her to a 
pretty apartment, fresh as the morning, with 
rose-colored hangings and dainty, white lace 
curtains, draped back from the windows with 
bows of wide, pink satin ribbon. 

“ This is our room,” said Marie, clasping her 
hands in a sisterly fashion, “ do you like it ?” 

Dolores could not resist the charming 
manner of Marie, which, added to her pleas- 
ing face and sympathetic voice, impressed 
her in her favor. Marie watched anxiously 
for the smile that rewarded her efforts to 
please. The changing color that came and 
went over her expressive face and the loving 
light in her soft, blue eyes completed her 
conquest. 

Dolores still maintained a silence that was 
embarrassing, although she warmly pressed 
the hand of her new friend. 

i6 


241 


®uirt)a 


‘‘ Speak to me ! Tell me that you are not 
displeased, or you will make me very un- 
happy,’* said Marie. 

Dolores was touched by her distress, and 
between her tearful sobs, replied, “Oui, 
Mademoiselle, oui, je suis tres touchee, but I 
must not remain here. Poor Madame Foret 
will be so anxious. Oh ! it is dreadful !’^ 

Marie assured her that Madame Foret 
would be cared for, and finally succeeded in 
calming the agitated girl, who was still suf- 
fering from the emotion caused by her ad- 
venture. 

A gentle rap on the door, and Madame de 
Bossier entered, followed by a maid with a 
tea-tray. Marie assisted her in placing the 
tray on a small table, poured out some tea, 
and urged Dolores to partake of the refresh- 
ing beverage. 

She could not repel her sweet persuasion, 
and drank the tea, which seemed to calm her 
and restore her tranquillity. 

After a while the maid reappeared and an- 
nounced the “ Madame est servie,” and 
Dolores allowed herself to be conducted to 
the salle a manger. 

242 


Ikt&nappct) 

Armand came forward to meet her, and 
said : 

“Votre serviteur, Mademoiselle!” Per- 
mit me to introduce my friend, le Baron de 
Fougere.” 

Dolores bowed blushingly, and the little 
family sat down to dine. 

Armand had spared no pains in his toilette 
for dinner, and looked more than handsome 
in his evening dress, white tie, and gardenia 
in his buttonhole. 

Dolores was seated beside Marie, and 
Armand was on the opposite side of the 
table. He lost no opportunity of showing by 
his glances and little attentions his entire de- 
votion to her. 

As the dinner progressed, harmony and 
sociability increased, and before its close they 
were all in the best of humor. 

Meanwhile, the newsboys of Paris were 
doing a fine business on the boulevards, cry- 
ing, '‘Extra! Extra! Tenl^vement deTavenue 
de Bois de Boulogne ! Extra ! Extra !” 

A short, thick-set, middle-aged man, with 
a keen, alert expression on his face, was 
seated at the cafe de la Paix sipping his Ver- 
243 


©uirba 


mouth. He listened to the cries of the 
newsboys with a smile of satisfaction. He 
did not need the paper he had bought to tell 
him that the kidnapping that he and Armand 
had so well planned had been successfully 
carried out. 

Armand de Bossier had arranged with this 
man of questionable reputation, but of ample 
means, to furnish the necessary money to 
carry out his plans of marrying this Cuban 
heiress, agreeing to pay him out of her for- 
tune after she had become his wife, with a 
good margin above what he had advanced. 

The newspapers stated that the police had 
done all that was possible in the matter, and 
that they had ascertained beyond a doubt 
that the fugitives had probably taken a train 
at some station and left the country. 

They did not dream that the happy family 
were quietly eating in a charming villa not 
far from the Bois de Boulogne. The police 
were unable to find a trace of the coachman 
or his carriage. This was not strange. The 
coachman was a friend of de Bossier, dis- 
guised in a blonde wig and a coachman’s 
livery for the occasion ; and the carriage and 

244 


1k^^nappe& 

horses were in the coach-house and stable 
at the villa. 

Paris had its usual nine-days’ wonder, 
until it was forgotten, when some other ex- 
citing event stirred the hearts of the people. 

At the villa all went well. Mademoiselle de 
la Cortes was not inconsolable. The second 
morning after her arrival she was made 
happy by finding her good Madame Foret 
comfortably seated in an arm-chair on the 
veranda, as much at home as though she had 
always lived there. The good woman had 
been sent for and properly instructed. She 
was to be silent and prudent, and was to 
select what was necessary, in the way of 
wardrobe, for Mademoiselle and herself, for 
a short journey in the country. Baron de 
Foug^re had arranged and successfully car- 
ried out his plan. 

The days passed tranquilly at the villa, 
and before the new moon waxed and waned, 
de Bossier, by his persistent attentions and 
passionate devotion, had won the love of the 
already half-willing Dolores. 

The marriage of the lovers was speedily 
decided upon. Mademoiselle de la Cortes 
245 


©uirba 


being an orphan, there was no one whose 
consent it was necessary to obtain, save that 
of her legal guardian, who resided in Lon- 
don, and thither the entire family journeyed 
one fine evening. 

The guardian was consulted, and his con- 
sent to an immediate marriage requested. 
He was soon convinced that his ward’s hap- 
piness depended upon her union with this 
handsome Frenchman, whom she loved with 
all the passionate ardor of her Spanish 
heart. 

The preliminaries were soon arranged and 
they were married at the Spanish consulate. 

After the happy pair had passed some 
weeks in travelling, they returned to France, 
and purchased a fine estate in the Departe- 
ment of the Cote d’Or. 

Monsieur Armand de Bossier subsequently 
became popular in politics, was elected 
depute from his Departement, and is to-day 
serving with brilliant success in the Chambre 
des Deputes. 


246 


CHAPTER XIX. 


t 


THE DUEL 

** Le temps assez souvent a rendu legitime 
Ce que semblait d’abord ne se pouvoir sans crime.” 


N one of the lounging-rooms 
of the Jockey Club the 
Marquis de Verville is 
seated alone. He is await- 
ing the arrival of the Count 
de Sarzeau. One after an- 
other of the habitues of the 
club saunter in and chat to- 
gether. The prevailing topic of their con- 
versation is the disgraceful episode at the 
Grand Opera. To all this talk the Marquis 
is an unwilling listener. 

Baron Steinfeldt seems to be particularly 
indignant, and is earnestly talking to his 
friend, Monsieur Auban. 

It was an unpardonable affront to place 
himself unblushingly beside his Russian mis- 

247 



®utr&a 

tress, and in a first-tier box directly opposite 
^fhat of his wife/' 

“ And did you observe how devotedly at- 
tentive he was to her, Baron ? " 

“ Yes, I saw it all ; and I have heard that 
he has been neglecting his beautiful wife for 
some time. He has been going at a rapid 
pace lately, drinking heavily, always absinthe 
and champagne." 

“ I believe that he had a transient spasm 
of virtue, and separated from this woman be- 
fore his marriage. Of course, it goes without 
saying that he promised her a liberal allow- 
ance from his prospective wife's millions." 

I think the woman must have resumed 
her power over him very soon after his return 
to Paris. She is just the kind of a woman 
that would resort to any means to assist him 
in squandering the gold his wife so gener- 
ously placed within his control. They say 
her extravagances are unparalleled. Her 
costumes and jewels are the talk of the 
clubs." 

'' I can quite believe you, for I saw her out 
riding in the Bois recently and her equipage 
was incomparable, and her coachman and 

24S 


Z\)c 2)uel 


valet wore the de Sarzeau livery ; and, more, 
on the panels of her carriage the arms of this, 
proud family were conspicuously emblaz- 
oned.’’ 

Vraiment ! Then I think her cleverness, 
not to say audacity, is unequalled.” 

At this moment the Count de Sarzeau en- 
tered the room by a door at some distance 
from de Verville. He was accompanied by 
three of his friends, and was soon joined by 
several more of his admirers and sycophants, 
who profited in a way agreeable to themselves 
in return for their ready laughter at the ques- 
tionable wit of their titled friend. 

The Marquis de Verville could not avoid 
hearing all that was said, for they talked 
loudly and were evidently under the influence 
of wine. They complimented the Count on 
his courage in braving the world and its 
opinions. The Marquis de Verville found it 
difficult to control his anger. His patience 
left him ; rage and indignation took posses- 
sion of his heart. Indignation, that this man 
who had won this peerless woman for his 
wife, the protegee of his honored mother and 
his sister’s dearest friend, should make her 


249 


©uir&a 


the subject of this coarse wit, should asso- 
ciate her spotless name with this Russian 
adventuress, rendered him furious. 

He arose, walked across the room to where 
the Count de Sarzeau was seated, and said to 
him with undisguised anger : 

“Lache ! You are a disgrace to yourself 
and to every member of this club to mention 
the name of your wife in terms of ridicule 
and insult, and at the same time lauding a 
notorious woman, your mistress.” 

A look of consternation was visible on the 
faces of the Count and his friends at the vio- 
lent words and manner of de Verville, but 
the Count quickly recovered his self-posses- 
sion, and, with a bravado that was badly 
assumed, jeeringly said : 

‘*And you. Monsieur de Verville, who con- 
stituted you the champion and protector of 
my wife’s name? ” 

De Verville was too incensed to success- 
fully control his voice or manner, but with an 
effort he replied in a constrained voice : 

“I speak in the name of every honest 
woman in general, and of this one woman in 
particular, who has had the misfortune to call 

250 


Z\)c Duel 


you * husband/ She was an honored member 
of my mother’s family until she left our pro- 
tection to become your wife.” 

De Sarzeau laughed loudly, and said in 
an exasperating tone and manner : 

A member of your mother’s family ! In- 
deed ! And was that all she was to you, 
Monsieur? ” 

*^You are a miserable coward ! ” said de 
Verville, losing all command of his temper, 
and raising his left hand he struck the Count 
a sharp blow across the face. 

A second of awful silence. 

De Sarzeau instinctively raised his hand to 
his cheek, on which a red line could be traced, 
then faced de Verville. 

When and where ? ” were his only words. 

^‘The sooner the better,” replied the Mar- 
quis, white and half-wild with fury. 

The group of men who had gathered looked 
in amazement at each other, and gradually 
retired by twos and threes to discuss the 
probable outcome of the affair, while the two 
parties most interested occupied themselves 
in selecting their seconds. 

De Sarzeau was quite content to accept 
251 


©uir&a 


the offered services of his friend Armaiid de 
Bossier, who had been associated with him 
in many other affairs not always of honor. 
They repaired to one of the private rooms 
of the club, and de Bossier said : 

“ My dear Count, let us discuss what to 
do, as there is little time before us.’' 

“ That is very simple,” said the Count. If 
luck stands to me 1 shall run him through the 
heart.” 

“ I dare say you will,” replies de Bossier 
in a serious tone. 

“I must kill him or proclaim myself a 
coward, as he called me. Egad ! and he 
struck me across the face with his hand — 
here ! ” and the Count raises his hand to the 
cheek that still bears the mark of the blow. 
His eyes blaze with suppressed wrath as he 
involuntarily clinches his hands, and a deadly 
light comes into his eyes. 

“I shall kill him!” he hisses between his 
firmly set teeth. 

He expresses a wish for pen, ink, and paper. 
They are brought and placed upon a table 
beside him. He takes from his breast-pocket 
a portefeuille, which he opens and carefully 

252 


Z\)c H)uel 


notes its contents. Selecting one paper he 
reads it over with a satisfied expression. It is 
the contract which he made with the Princess 
de Salande, through that admirable tool of 
hers, that astute paragon of tact and intrigue, 
Madame Montfort, the contract by which he 
had been able to win the fair Miss Winston 
and her immense fortune. 

The last fifty thousand francs that were 
still due on that contract were yet unpaid. 
He wrote a note to the Princess, and enclosed 
a check for the amount, carefully sealed and 
addressed the envelope, saying to himself. 
Not a bad bargain, all things considered. I 
have a wife, her money; that goddess of 
passion, Vera, and — others.’' 

He carefully looked over the rest of his 
papers, destroying many, and replacing some 
in his note-book. On the table before him 
still rested an envelope ; he opened it, taking 
out a photograph. It was the same picture 
that his wife had seen when she picked up 
that portefeuille in the garden. 

He gazed long and fondly at the shadowed 
image, read over the foolish words he had 
written there on the eve of his marriage-day, 
253 


®ulr&a 

and that had caused the trouble between him- 
self and his wife. 

Vera, my only love, lost October twen- 
tieth.’' 

He smiled as he thought of how short a 
time she had been lost, and how happy they 
had been since their reunion. 

“ I don’t need to keep this picture now, as 
I much prefer to keep the original, which I in- 
tend to do in spite of everything,” he mused 
to himself. 

When he had finished inspecting and ar- 
ranging his papers he wrote several letters, 
and sealed and addressed them, remarking : 

“ This is a mere matter of form, as I have 
no apprehension for the morrow.” 

The last letter of the collection was a note 
from Doctor Campbell,^ requesting him to 
call upon him at his office the next day, at 
three o’clock in the afternoon, without fail. 
No answer was required. 

“Well, I can keep that appointment after 
I have disposed of that impertinent little Mar- 
quis. It will be a good time to see that irate 
old American pill maker, for I shall be in a 
fighting mood, probably. I suppose he, too, 
254 


tCbc Duel 


is indignant. Parbleu ! How he glared at 
me at the opera ! He and all the rest of 
them will have to swallow their indigna- 
tion, for I am resolved to do as I please, 
come what may. They can do nothing more 
than to despise me, and that sentiment I can 
most cordially reciprocate.’' 

He rang for a servant and ordered him to 
bring two glasses of absinthe, and afterward 
alight luncheon and a bottle of champagne. 

Rousing his friend de Bossier, who had 
fallen asleep on a comfortable couch, he said : 

“ I hope you did not get tired of waiting 
for me ? We will have something to eat and 
then I will go home, and you can arrange 
affairs as you please.” 

While waiting to be served they sip their 
absinthe, that insidious beverage with the 
little pale-green devil in it, and talk over all 
the necessary details for the important meet- 
ing. 

The Marquis de Verville is at his home in 
his private apartments, awaiting the coming 
of his friend. Captain Ronsard, whom he has 
asked to be his second in the coming duel. 
On his arrival they talk together for some 
255 


©ulrba 


time in low, earnest tones. As the Captain 
rises to take his leave, he says cheerily : 

“ Courage, mon ami ! The Count is not 
going to finish you.” 

De Verville replies in a restrained voice : 

'' After all there is not so much in life that 
one should regret it to any intense degree.” 

“Mon ami, there you err,” quickly re- 
sponded the Captain. “There is a great 
deal in this life if you go the right and proper 
way to find it. You must fight this duel. Keep 
cool, guard carefully, and let him tire himself 
out, then go for him. Fll see you through it 
and stick to you whatever happens.” 

The Marquis takes his friend’s hand. 

“Thanks, cher Capitaine, I am sure you 
will ; but the Count de Sarzeau, you know, 
is such a wonderful swordsman.” 

“Never mind, you, too, can handle the 
foils in a masterly fashion. Don’t you re- 
member our practice when we were at school 
at Saint Cyr ? Who could equal you then ? 
I don’t forget that you were by far the best 
fencer in that renowned military institution. 
When the time comes your old skill will not 
fail you, be assured.” 

256 


ZTbe 2)uel 

If all is arranged with fairness I will take 
my chances.’' 

“ By jove ! I would not advise the Count 
or any of his friends to attempt anything un- 
fair while I am in the field. I must leave you 
now. I will be here with the carriage at the 
appointed hour,” and with a firm clasp of his 
hand he took his departure. 

The Marquis seated himself at his desk 
^nd thought of what he must do. 

I have not many debts, my will is made, 
so I have little to transact in the way of busi- 
ness. A few letters to write — a few to burn 
— a trifle or two to seal up and direct to one 
or two good fellows who may like a souvenir ; 
this is the extent of my task.” 

The Marquis de Verville and the Count de 
Sarzeau, accompanied by their seconds, met 
between four and five o’clock the following 
morning in a secluded lane in the Bois de 
Boulogne. Both men knew that the duel, 
unlike most French ones, was to be A la 
mort,” and that the insult could only be 
wiped out by the life of one of them. 

They met accordingly. Swords had been 
decided upon as the weapons. The Count 
257 


17 


®uir&a 


was considered one of the best fencers of the 
day, and he presented by far the cooler ap- 
pearance of the two. He leaned noncha- 
lantly against a tree smoking a cigarette and 
flicking idly at some minute spots of dust that 
had got on the sleeve of his coat, while the 
seconds were attending to the final arrange- 
ments. 

The Marquis de Verville, haggard from a 
sleepless night, flushed with fever and hands 
shaking with passionate excitement, moved 
about restlessly, as though incapable of stand- 
ing still. Even the surgeon, who had come 
with the Count and his second in the former’s 
carriage, looked pityingly at the young Mar- 
quis, and observed to himself that he ought 
to have ordered his coffin before coming ; 
and he hoped the Count would be merciful 
and put him out of his pain at the first 
thrust. But in the Count’s heart there was no 
thought of mercy or anything but deadly hate. 
Just as the two men had been placed in 
position, and the signal was about to be 
given, he threw his cigarette lightly away) 
observing in tones of biting irony, and with a 
sneering expression in his eyes : 

258 


Zhc Duel 


“ Monsieur, let me request you to advise 
your principal to observe a little more calm- 
ness. It will really be well for himself and 
perhaps for — someone else that he should ; 
and, Monsieur '' 

“For heaven’s sake, give us the signal ! ” 
cried de Verville hoarsely. It was the only 
answer he made to the brutal gibe, but all 
the blood in his body seemed concentrated 
in the two fever-spots on his haggard cheeks. 

At the signal the blades met and felt each 
other, as if imbued with the hatred that ani- 
mated the duellists themselves. Steel sounded 
against steel as one or the other of the 
weapons tried to find an opening in the de- 
fence of its rival. 

De Verville broke ground incautiously, and 
tripping over a protruding tree-trunk fell 
backward prone at the feet of his antagonist. 
The next instant the Count’s rapier was 
thrust at his heart, but its course was turned 
and it inflicted a severe wound in de Ver- 
ville’s left arm. 

“ Ah, canaille ! ” cried Captain Ronsard, as 
he struck up the Count’s blade, “you would 
commit murder, would you ? Well, you don’t 
259 


©uir&a 

while I am second, and have skill enough to 
prevent it.” 

‘‘You shall answer to me for this, Mon- 
sieur,” hissed the Count, turning furiously 
upon the speaker. 

“At your service. Monsieur, later, and 
meanwhile I warn you to remember the 
‘ code,’ or I will run you through without fur- 
ther preliminaries.” 

The Count knew that he had been guilty of 
a grave breach of duelling etiquette, and was 
correspondingly irritated. 

“ Ready, Monsieur,” cried Gaston, obliv- 
ious of his wound and eager for the fray. 

The Count promptly resumed the offensive, 
and pressed hard the Marquis, who, however, 
had grown as cool as his enemy had become 
enraged. 

Their foils clashed, scraped, and for a 
moment twisted like living serpents — then 
with a dexterous motion of his wrist Gaston 
sent his opponent’s weapon flying into the 
air. 

The Count stood helpless, disarmed, and 
at the mercy of the man that hated him. He 
turned deathly pale. 


260 


tTbe Duel 


Gaston coldly but courteously saluted and 
lowered the point of his sword to the ground. 

Losing all control of himself the Count 
picked up his rapier and rushed at his 
enemy. 

Parry, thrust and “riposte,” counter, parry, 
and thrust followed in quick succession, the 
combatants gaining and losing ground alter- 
nately. The sound of grinding steel filled 
the air, and the blades emitted sparks of fire 
as they came in contact with each other. 

Suddenly the Count gave a terrific lunge, 
resting his left hand on the ground to balance 
himself. His blade sped forward and upward 
beneath his adversary’s guard. It was the 
famous de Sarzeau “ botte.” 

Gaston seized the opportunity to end the 
duel one way or the other, and, instead of 
parrying, coolly side-stepped to the right. It 
was a desperate chance, for the Count’s blade 
just grazed his left side. However, before 
de Sarzeau could recover his position Gaston 
had driven his rapier under his antagonist’s 
sword-arm and run him completely through 
the body. 

A groan, an effort to rise, a fallen sword — 

261 


®uir&a 


and all that remained of the Count de Sar- 
zeau lay on the ground — limp, motionless, 
dead. 

Ouirda was avenged. 

De Vervillelet his foil fall to the grass and 
looked around on the other members of the 
group with a face perfectly pale now, and 
filled with a calm, grave light. 

“Gentlemen,” he said solemnly, “I take 
you all to witness, this man brought his death 
upon himself. What I have done has been 
for the vindication of the honor of an esti- 
mable woman, whom I respect as a sister.” 
Bowing to them altogether, he entered the 
carriage with his second and his surgeon and 
was rapidly driven away. 

Arriving at a secluded spot the surgeon 
urged the necessity of attending to the 
Marquis’ wounded arm, which, though not 
broken, was extremely painful, the sword 
having passed out, tearing the muscle in an 
ugly way. With skill and dexterity the sur- 
geon dressed the wound, and before entering 
the carriage they consulted together regard- 
ing what was best to be done. 

Captain Ronsard remarked that, as matters 
262 


^be Duel 


had turned out so unfortunately, he would 
advise the Marquis to leave Paris as speedily 
as possible ; and however much he must de- 
plore the termination of the affair, it had 
been conducted according to the strictest laws 
of the code of honor, and that he was quite 
ready to make a deposition to that effect. 

They enter the carriage again and start for 
the nearest railroad station. They had not 
gone but a short distance, however, when the 
carriage window was darkened by a commis- 
saire de police, who opened the door, and, 
placing his hand upon the Marquis' shoulder, 
said the ominous words : 

Au nom de la loi ! I arrest you for the 
assassination of Monsieur le Comte de Sar- 
zeau in the Bois de Boulogne this morning." 

De Verville took the arrest coolly. 

“ It is all right. I will go with you willingly. 
But it was a duel, not an assassination, and 
he wounded me in return." 

They took de Verville back to Paris and 
to prison. He fainted in the carriage from 
pain and loss of blood. 

The prison-surgeon, who knew the Marquis 
well, pronounced him to be in a critical state, 
^63 


®uirt)a 


and counselled Captain Ronsard to arrange 
for de Verville's immediate release. 

Acting upon this suggestion, the Captain, 
with the aid of influential friends, was soon 
enabled to remove the Marquis to his home. 


CHAPTER XX, 


THE DAY AFTER 

Some praise at morning what they blame at night, 
But always think the last opinion right." 



is is usual in French duelling 
there were many conflicting 
opinions. Then came the 
preliminary inquiries and 
investigations. Next fol- 
lowed the usual delays, for 
this or for that cause, which 
go to indefinitely postpone, 
and finally, after all excitement has subsided, 
to drop the entire affair out of sight. 

The next morning the Figaro contained 
the following notice of the duel : 

“ Great excitement has been created here 
to-day over a duel that was fought at an 
early hour yesterday morning between the 
Count Raoul de Sarzeau, the well-known 
social celebrity, and the young Marquis 
Gaston de Verville. 


265 


©uirba 


'‘It took place on the Neuilly side of the 
Bois de Boulogne. The seconds were Mon- 
sieur Armand de Bossier, for the Count, and 
Captain Ronsard, of the National Guards, 
for the Marquis. 

“ It appears that in the beginning the Mar- 
quis de Verville tripped and fell, whereupon 
his antagonist attempted to run him through, 
wounding him, however, only in the arm be- 
fore he was prevented by Captain Ronsard. 
Later on the Marquis disarmed the Count, 
but courteously lowered his point until that 
gentleman had recovered his weapon. Fin- 
ally, the Count used his famous de Sarzeau 
' botte.’ The effect was as disastrous as it 
was unexpected, for the Count missed his 
aim and he himself became transfixed upon 
the sword of his enemy. He was pierced 
through the heart, and died instantly. 

“ Additional horror is given to this tragedy 
by the fact that the Count, for so long a 
bachelor of considerable extravagance and 
gallantry, some months ago married a young 
American lady of rare attractions and great 
wealth. It is whispered that jealousy and an 
exaggerated rumor that the young Countess 

266 


Zhc S)a^ after 

was ill-treated and insulted was the cause of 
the unfortunate affair.” 

In Paris the popular feeling regarding an 
affaire d’honneur is usually against the sur- 
vivor, but in this instance it was not altogether 
the case. Opinions were divided. Even the 
daily papers were diverse in their reports and 
comments. One or two had gone so far as to 
speak of the duel as ^‘an assassination,” but 
this was soon put a stop to by the deposition, 
signed by those who had witnessed the affair, 
stating that it had been carried out in accord- 
ance with the strictest rules of the code 
regulating such matters. 

Still, the outcry for the government to 
take some measures for the suppression of 
duelling was not lessened. 

One of the best-known fire-eating editors 
pointed out with almost tearful eloquence 
that, were it to be permitted, every disap- 
pointed admirer could first insult and then 
kill his successful rival ; broken - hearted 
widows would soon become a common thing 
in France, and marriage a pleasure too peril- 
ous to be indulged in by any except the most 
practised and brilliant swordsmen. The article 
267 


®ulrt)a 


further stated that there had always been a 
rivalry between the two gentlemen. That 
further revelations of a startling character 
were expected. That the duel was in some 
manner a defence of the wife’s honor, and 
that the survivor was at present lodged in 
the House of Detention. 

Another journal moralized in this manner : 

In spite of all the eloquence of Rousseau 
and the sovereignty of the people ; in spite 
of the wise example of aristocratic England, 
democratic and social France keeps the duel. 
Its citizens in the nineteenth century still 
conduct themselves like the knights of the 
age of judicial combats. Montesquieu, a 
feudalist, explained why a blow on the cheek 
is unpardonable. Inasmuch as the knight 
fought with a covered head, none but vassals 
could be struck on the cheek ; hence, accord- 
ing to this theory, the supreme offence, the 
assault upon a man’s cheek, calls for blood, 
That noble theory, ‘force before right,’ still 
regulates all human relations, individual and 
collective. There is even a false code of 
honor, establishing and containing all the ab- 
surd and atrocious laws, usages, and customs 
268 


Zbc 2)a? after 

of this right of the strongest, civilizing homi- 
cide and legalizing murder. They fight until 
blood is drawn or to the death, with pistols 
or swords, at twenty paces or arm’s-length, 
with seconds to say ‘enough,’ and the sur- 
geon nearby to repair the ‘too much,’ and 
in all cases alike honor is satisfied. They 
draw lots for advantage ground and position, 
but allow the advantages of fencing lessons 
and shooting lessons, and still honor is satis- 
fied. For one of these civilized crimes, then, 
two men have fought a duel ; and justice, 
morality, and honor have been once more 
satisfied in France by the flow of blood.” 

In the grand salon of the club-house the 
absorbing topic of conversation is the recent 
duel. Here, as well as elsewhere, there are 
conflicting reports and opinions regarding the 
affair. 

The Prince de Salande is seated by him- 
self, thinking it all over. He gives an occa- 
sional shrug of the shoulders with the air of 
a man who says, “ What else could you ex- 
pect !” He is joined by one of his most 
intimate friends, and, after salutations, they 
discuss the unfortunate duel. 

269 


®uirt)a 


“ The Count de Sarzeau would have gone 
to destruction entirely independent of the 
Marquis de Verville,” said the Prince, 
slowly. 

“ Y es, his wife would have been a widow 
sooner or later at the pace he was going.’' 

^*They say the Countess loved him to dis- 
traction when they were married.” 

Impossible ! A girl of that age could 
not love anyone to distraction. Why, she 
was a mere child, just out of a convent 
school !” 

Then you think one must wait until on 
est vieux comme nous pour une grande pas- 
sion ?” 

Oh ! that marriage, mon ami, was a clear 
case of purchase and exchange, and the 
Count did not consider that he was owned 
because he had been bought.” 

“ I consider it a mysterious affair all round. 
Prince.” 

I am quite of your opinion. By the way, 
did you give my message to that rascally 
money-lender yesterday?” 

‘'Yes, precisely as you sent it.” 

‘T hope he was rational.” 

270 


Z\)c after 

Would you consider him otherwise if he 
differed from you, Prince ?” 

Why will you make such needless sup- 
positions ?” 

“To see what you would say/' 

“Well, tell me ; did he come to terms?" 

“ No, he did not ; he said no honest man 
would make such a proposition." 

“Then I must try elsewhere. Can you 
suggest another shark, or any scheme by 
which I can raise a few thousand francs at 
once?" 

“Yes, Prince, I think I can; but it is ruin- 
ous." 

“ No matter ; give me the particulars." 

They talk earnestly for a few moments, 
then go away together. 

Turn now from the club to the Faubourg 
Saint Germain, and enter the gilded gates of 
the Hotel de Verville. The Marquise had 
been anxiously awaiting the arrival of her son 
ever since the first news of the duel reached 
her. The blinds were closed and the dusk 
of evening had descended. The day had 
been a sad one, and the twilight was gloomier 
than the day. There is a noise outside as of 
271 


®utr&a 


someone coming. Yes, it is a carriage. 
Then footsteps, and the door is thrown open 
to admit a tall, spare man. It is General de 
Kiersabec. He enters the room hastily, and, 
forgetting his salutation, abruptly said : 

“What is this report that I have heard, 
Madame? Is it true that Gaston has been 
led into a quarrel — has, in fact, risked his 
life in a duel ? And all on account of that 
American woman you were so fond of? 
Tell me, is it so? Or is it all a wicked 
lie?" 

The Marquise controls herself with an 
effort. 

“ My dear General, compose yourself. It 
is true, he has fought a duel, but you must 
not blame the Countess, She had no part 
in it, and it was all the fault of the Count de 
Sarzeau. I know all the circumstances, and 
you must not blame her." 

“You tell me this! You, his mother!’* 
said the General, in accents of intense anger. 
“She alone is to blame for it all. This 
woman, with her pretty face, her coquetries 
and her vanities, has done this work. This 
viper of an American, whom you so pro- 

272 


Zbc after 

tected, has led your son into a duel that in 
all probability will bring him to his grave.’’ 

The Marquise flushed painfully, and showed 
that she felt the full meaning of his words, 
and resented their injustice. With a stern- 
ness and severity not usual with her, she 
replied : 

“ Silence ! General de Kiersabec, mindful as 
I am of the excitement under which you are 
laboring, it is impossible for me to listen to 
such words from you. I know all that hap- 
pened ; know all that caused this dreadful 
duel. I myself saw the public insult given 
to the Countess by her husband, and I also 
was a witness to the calm, dignified manner 
in which she endured the vile affront. This 
American woman, whom you so falsely ac- 
cuse, was a good, true, and noble wife, and I 
cannot allow you to speak of her in this man- 
ner. I ask you to be kind enough to cease 
your disparaging remarks, or I shall be ob- 
liged to leave the room. Here is my son’s 
letter, written last night, telling me of the 
Count’s insulting words and manner to him 
in their interview at the club ; and here are 
the letters and telegrams from Captain Ron- 

i8 273 


®uir&a 


sard, who is with my son. He has sent me 
news every hour since the duel. They were 
arrested and were put in prison, but they 
are now on their way home. I was watching 
for them when you came. Gaston has been 
wounded, but he will not die. God will spare 
my only son. I have endured tortures of 
suspense and anxiety all this long day, and 
now you are adding to my distress.” 

The Marquise was sobbing bitterly, and 
the General, now conscious that he had been 
hasty and unjust in his indignation, tries 
to calm her agitation, and, after many com- 
forting words, continues : 

I was told that Gaston had an unfortunate 
infatuation for the Countess, which was the 
cause of the duel.” 

“You have been misinformed, as I said 
before. I know all. My son has only acted 
the part of a brother in defending the honor 
of the Countess.” 

“Well, I am glad she was not at fault, 
and I hope Gaston is not seriously hurt ; it 
would be dreadful if he should die of his 
wound.” 

“What a gloomy room, and what a dis- 

274 


Zhc S)ai2 Sftcr 

mal topic ! Who is talking of dying ?” said 
a glad young voice from the doorway. It is 
a voice that makes the mother tremble vio- 
lently, as she holds out her arms in expecta- 
tion, with a suppressed but thankful cry. 

“ Mon cher fils ! que Dieu soit loue ! 
What a fright you have given us all and your 
old ‘papa General,’ as you used to call him 
when you were a little fellow,” and tears 
filled the mother’s eyes as she gently touched 
the wounded arm bandaged in a sling. 

“ My dear boy,” said the General, “ I have 
been mourning for you all the way from home 
as past all help, and now here you are safe, 
if not sound,” and he gives a long sigh, half 
of annoyance, half of relief. 

Gaston is pleased with the expression of 
deep affection which he sees on the old Gen- 
eral’s face, and, as he is nearly overcome 
with fatigue and emotion, with a forced effort 
says : 

“ I did not think any lucky chance would 
induce you to leave ‘ La Barraque ’ and take 
this long trip.” 

“ It was no lucky chance, as you call it, but 
the news of this duel that brought me here.” 
275 


©uir&a 


“ How did you hear of it in your quiet 
country place, General ?” 

‘‘ No matter. I heard of it, that is certain, 
and I came up by the first train.” 

‘'The Captain sent him a telegram,” mut- 
ters Gaston aside. 

The General continues : 

“Now that I know that you are safe, my 
time in this noisy city will be short ; but I 
want to talk with you seriously before I go 
home.” 

“All right, cher General, any time that 
suits you. I shall probably be in retirement 
for a while,” said Gaston, pointing to his 
wounded arm. “ I am ready and willing to 
tell you all the particulars, answer questions, 
and be generally agreeable.” 

“Well said, mon gargon, I will come and 
see you to-morrow morning,” said the Gen- 
eral, laying his hand affectionately on the 
young man's shoulder. 

“ I will be glad to see you, for I am not 
proof against your displeasure,” said Gaston. 

The General says au revoir, bows over the 
hand of the Marquise, and takes his depart- 
ure. 


276 


^be after 

The old man has been in an agitated state 
of mind for many hours, and he longs for 
solitude and the unobtrusive attentions of 
his old servant, Pierre, who has been his 
trusted companion since their retirement 
from the army, and who is now waiting for 
him in the servants' hall. 

Gaston embraces his mother tenderly, and 
they talk but little of the event of the day. 
He asks her if she has had news from the 
Countess. 

‘^Only a line, sending me assurances of 
sympathy, and comforting words ; but she 
did not speak of her own great trouble.” 

Dear mother, go to her to-morrow ; she 
has much need of your loving presence. She 
is alone, and with that horror in the house — 
I cannot speak of him, even now. Spare me 
questions to-night, dear mother; to-morrow 
I will be better able to talk to you,” said 
Gaston, tenderly embracing his mother and 
bidding her good-night. 

He rings for his valet and sends for his 
friend. Captain Ronsard, who came home 
with him, and who has been waiting patiently 
in the library. The Captain insists upon 
277 


©uirba 


Gaston taking immediate repose, and prom- 
ises that he will call early in the morning. 

Gaston is left alone. Now that there is no 
longer any necessity for appearing brave and 
cheerful, he sinks into a chair, weary from 
pain and exhaustion, and, after regaining his 
strength a little, he retires to his room, leaning 
upon the arm of his valet. 


278 


CHAPTER XXL 


l’amiti6 fin de si^:cle 

O ye wha are sae guit yoursel, 

Sae pious and sae holy, 

YeVe naught to do but mark and tell 
Your neebours’ fauts and folly.” 


ADAME MONTFORT is 
looking over her tablet to 
arrange her engagements 
for the day. First, she must 
call on the Princess, to learn 
if she is needed for the pro- 
motion of any new affair. 
Arriving at the hotel of the 
Princess, she finds her friend quite indis- 
posed and not in a very amiable humor. 

*‘Bon jour, chere Princesse, vous-etes 
souffrante ? ” 

“Yes and no; a little ennui. I wish I 
knew what is the matter with me this 
morning. I wonder if I am going to have 
maladie ?” 

279 



©uirt)a 


Oh, no ! You are only nervous. What 
can I do for you ? Can I get you anything ? 
Or shall I read you the news ? I see you 
haven’t unfolded your newspapers yet.'’ 

“ How kind of you. Yes, do read to me.” 

‘‘ Where shall I begin ?” 

“ Look at the marriages and deaths first.” 

Madame Montfort opens a newspaper and 
turns to the marriage notices. 

'‘Tiens! Listen to this! It is news in- 
deed !” said Madame Montfort, laughingly. 

What can it be that pleases you so much ?” 

“Two of our friends have been getting 
married.” 

“ Who are they ?” 

“ The widow Clemence de Colanges I ” 

“ Is it possible ? Cette vieille I And who 
is the victim ?” 

“Monsieur le Depute Renal-Fervaques.” 

“ Ma foi I c’est superbe ga, how sly those 
old lovers have been. We may have missed 
something by not knowing that this affair 
was entrain. What other news do you see? 
You are so provoking. You read to yourself, 
and say nothing. What are you looking so 
excited about? What has happened?” 

280 


X'Hmitie fin De Siecle 

Oh, mon Dieu ! Such terrible news ! A 
duel 

“ What did you say ? A duel 

“Yes, a duel — a dreadful duel! The 
Count de Sarzeau killed by the Marquis de 
Verville !” 

“Who? Where? What do you tell me? 
Let me see for myself/’ The Princess springs 
from her couch, and, taking the paper nerv- 
ously in her hands, reads the startling 
news. 

“Oh, mon Dieu I C’estaffreux!” exclaimed 
the Princess. “This duel is probably the 
result of the Count being so unwise as to 
take his mistress to the opera the other 
evening.” 

“ Did he really do that?” 

“So I heard. I did not attend the opera 
that evening, but the Prince told me about 
it. He said it was very bad form on the 
Count’s part, particularly so as his wife is 
an American ; and American women, you 
know, do not take kindly to our custom of 
husbands keeping a mistress. But we do 
not mind that, so long as they do not look 
too closely into our own little intrigues.” 

281 


®utrt)a 


*‘Do tell me, Princess, what occurred at 
the opera. I have not heard anything about 
it.” 

It was this way, I believe. At the end 
of the second act the Count came into one 
of the boxes with his Russian mistress. She 
was gorgeously arrayed. They seated them- 
selves conspicuously in the front chairs, and 
the box was directly opposite the one occu- 
pied by his wife, the Marquise de Verville, 
and Doctor Campbell.” 

^'That was an affront, surely,” said Mad- 
ame Montfort. 

“I suppose,” continued the Princess, “that 
the Marquis Gaston felt himself called upon 
to resent the* insult to the Countess and his 
mother.” 

“The de Vervilles have a high regard for 
the Countess, and consider her as a member 
of their family.” 

“You are right, ma cherie, but for my part 
I do not believe that the Marquis Gaston 
has ever entirely gotten over his grand 
passion for the Countess.” 

“What makes you say that ? Have you 
ever seen or heard of anything that would 

282 


X^amitie fin be Siecle 

cause you to think that to be true ?” asked 
Madame Montfort. 

“No, I assure you all the facts are quite 
to the contrary; but I like to indulge in a 
little romance in my thoughts sometimes. 
Life is entirely too prosy.'’ 

“I fancy you will find little to aid your 
romancing in the life of the Countess de 
Sarzeau, as she is the personification of pro- 
priety.” 

“ Do you think they will punish the Mar- 
quis ?” continued Madame. 

“Fm sure I do not know. French laws 
deal very leniently with duelling. Poor 
Count de Sarzeau ! So you are dead. Oh, 
mon Dieu !” and the Princess put her hand- 
kerchief to her eyes. 

“The fact of this duel having ended fatally 
may complicate matters for the Marquis. I 
see by the account in the paper that he was 
badly wounded, and also that he was released 
from prison.” 

“ You, Madame, are thinking and talking 
all the time of the Marquis, while I only 
think of the Count. Pauvre'gargon !” 

“Another question arises, chere Princess. 

283 


®uirt)a 


What shall we do about that last payment of 
fifty thousand francs that is due on our con- 
tract with the Count? We surely cannot 
collect it from the executors of his estate or 
from his widowed Countess.” 

The Princess shrugged her shoulders in a 
decidedly impatient manner, and replied : 

“We will be obliged to lose it. We never 
could present such a bill. Oh, le pauvre 
gar9on ! It must be the premonition of this 
horror that made me so ill this morning.” 

Madame Montfort looked a little suspi- 
ciously at the averted face of her friend, 
and felt that she had not said all that was in 
her mind, and a slight feeling of distrust 
came over her. She did not know that the 
Princess had received by the morning’s post 
a letter and a check for the amount that was 
due on the de Sarzeau contract. 

The Princess remained silent, lost in deep 
thought. The letter which she had received 
from the Count with the check was as bright 
and cheerful as possible. There had been 
no hint of the impending duel, and, like a 
flash, the thought had come to her, while 
Madame Montfort was reading the dreadful 

284 


X^amite fin ^e Siccle 

news, “ Here is a chance to keep the entire 
amount for myself, and no one will be the 
wiser.’' Consequently, she decided at once 
not to mention to her valuable go-between 
that she had received the check. 

Madame Montfort was very much embar- 
rassed by several pressing accounts that she 
had deferred settling until she should receive 
her share on the last payment of the de Sar- 
zeau transaction. She knew how useless it 
would be to say anything to the Princess, 
and decided to go and look after some little 
affairs that she had arranged by which she 
hoped to make a little pin-money indepen- 
dently of her dear friend the Princess. 

“ Have you anything new for me to attend 
to, chere amie ?” 

“No, please do not ask me to think of 
anything this morning. I am so completely 
overcome by this dreadful news. Come see 
me soon again, chere Madame, n’est ce pas ?” 

The Princess waits until she is very sure 
that the Madame has really gone. Then she 
rises from her couch and turns the key in 
the door. She goes to her ecritoire and 
takes out the letter from the Count. 

285 


®uir&a 


''Yes, it is all right. I will deposit the 
check at the bank at once. No one will 
question a dead man’s bill ; and, should they 
do so, could I not have loaned him this money 
in his impecunious days? No doubt his ex- 
ecutors will find many transactions much less 
plausible than this check for fifty thousand 
francs among his effects. I suppose I shall 
have to call upon the Countess to express 
my sympathy. Oh, how I dread it ! The 
strain on my nerves ! I think I will v/rite a 
letter of condolence instead of calling. That 
will not be difficult. What can I say ? Why 
will our friends make our lives so disagree- 
able for us sometimes ? Mais, mon Dieu ! 
I must think of something else, or my face 
will be full of lines, and I will look worn 
and old. 

"I wonder where I have placed the ad- 
dress of that loud, vulgar woman that 
wishes me to assist her in selecting a camel’s- 
hair shawl that she is going to buy for her 
fat, elegant self, and the laces for her daugh- 
ter’s trousseau. She frankly admitted that 
she could not detect any difference between 
real and imitation lace, and that she thought 

286 


X^amite fin be Steele 

an old-fashioned broche really looked finer 
and smoother than the high-priced camel’s- 
hair shawl, and that they certainly did not 
look so much like second-hand goods. Poor 
soul ! I suppose she was accustomed to buy- 
ing second-handed things before her husband 
‘struck it rich’ — to use her own expression, 
whatever that may mean. However, I pre- 
sume that it tells one in the American ver- 
nacular that he suddenly became rich. Let 
me see — I will take her to the Compagnie 
des Indes. I owe a large bill there, and 
the commission on what this woman will pur- 
chase will amount to a considerable sum. 
She will be so flattered to have me make the 
selections for her that she will not mind the 
price. I will send her a card and tell her to 
call upon me to-morrow — that I will be able 
to give her a few hours, and that I am quite 
sure we will find what she wishes. What a 
mistake the old lady made in not bringing 
that pretty daughter over here before she got 
infatuated with her American lover. She 
could have married her to a title and I could 
have profited by the arrangement. I think 
the mother could have been easily managed. 

287 


©uirba 


The daughter has considerable of that much- 
vaunted spirit that imbues the young ladies 
of Yankee land. At any rate, she seems to 
be well content to wed her American lover. 
This old lady says that ‘ Pa ’ is well pleased 
with the match, as ‘Bill’s’ ranche joins theirs, 
and he is a ‘square man.’ I suppose they 
admire square men over there. For my 
part, I prefer that they should be tall and 
distinguished. 

“ Now that I have decided what I must do, 
I will first write that letter of condolence, 
and have it off my mind. Oh ! What can I 
say? How I dread it! It must be done! 
I will drive around to the Hotel de Sarzeau 
and deliver the letter at the door personally. 
Oh! Que je serais contente que cette corvee 
soit finie, mon Dieu!” 


288 


CHAPTER XXII. 


LE COMMENCEMENT DE LA FIN 

“ Not one sigh shall tell my story, 

Not one tear my cheeks shall stain. 
Silent grief shall be my glory, 

Grief that stoops not to complain.*’ 


HEN the terrible news of the 
its fatal termina- 
brought to the 
she was stunned 
by the horror of it, and 
sank down senseless upon 
a couch. How long she 
lay there she never could 
remember. It may have been but a few 
moments, but it was long enough for her to 
understand what had happened — to drink 
the bitter draught to the last drop. Long 
enough, also, to learn that life had now no 
grief in store for her more heartrending than 
this. Though the sun was shedding its 
warmth around, a sudden chill fell over 
everything. The Countess looked wearily 

19 289 



duel, with 
tion, was 
Countess, 


®uir&a 


about her. All her surroundings had been 
bright and beautiful so short a time ago. The 
birds were singing merrily in the conserva- 
tory that adjoined her boudoir, but all the 
gold had faded from the sunlight, the per- 
fume from the flowers, the light from the 
skies, and the glory from the earth. 

She was alone amid the mouldering, 
blackened ruins of her happiness. A mist 
of passionate tears rose before her eyes as 
she realized the enormity of the dreadful 
tragedy. She was alone with her suffering ; 
what would she not have given for a friend ! 
Not for comforting words, not to sit down 
with her in her sackcloth, but one who could 
put a hand on events, and arrest their prog- 
ress, until she had the strength and courage 
to look them in the face. 

What must she do first ? 

To whom could she turn for aid and coun- 
sel ? 

The Marquise de Verville was her truest 
friend, and her thoughts turned instinctively 
to her. But just now she had her own 
troubles and trials. She was an old lady, a 
mother, and it was her son that had dealt 


290 


%c Commencement be la fin 

this blow. No, she could not send for the 
Marquise ; she must remember that sympa- 
thy and consideration were due to her as well. 
There was only one right course for her to 
pursue under the circumstances. She must 
put her own misery aside long enough to 
write the dear old lady some comforting 
words. This was soon accomplished, and 
then she sent a messenger with a hurried 
summons to her guardian. 

She had taxed her energies to their utmost. 
Someone must come to her at once, she was 
not equal to anything more. 

As there are blows and pains which end in 
insensibility, so there are catastrophies and 
perils that are so great as to produce delir- 
ium. The present was a whirl of conflicting 
emotions that blinded her eyes and hid the 
future. She could only think — think. She 
thought again of the sun-kissed heights of 
the bright future on which her young eyes 
had gazed a few short months before. How 
glorious her days were then ! 

Long she lay motionless upon her couch, 
lost in the memories of the past. 

The bells of Saint Sulpice struck the hour ; 

291 


©uirba 


she had been unmindful of the flight of time ; 
her thoughts had gone back to when she was 
a little child — to the prayers of her mother 
and the inconsolable grief at her sudden 
death. Then followed the calm, sweet faces 
of the Sisters at the Convent of the Sacred 
Heart, where she had passed so many years, 
of the warm friendship of her room-mate, 
dear, kind-hearted Jeanne de Verville. Then 
she dwelt upon her subsequent life, her brill- 
iant debut into the social world, and all that 
followed, passed in review before her. 

She was aroused from her retrospection by 
a gentle knock at the door, and Donalie, her 
maid, came softly in and said that Doctor 
Campbell was below. 

The Countess sent word to him that she 
did not feel equal to an interview at present. 

Donalie soon returned with the message 
that the Doctor intended to remain, and that 
if she wished him at any time she had only 
to send for him. 

Later on, as evening approached, she arose, 
and, at Donalie’s earnest request, partook of 
some light refreshment. It seemed so chilly 
everywhere. She walked over to the fire- 

292 


Xe Commencement vc la fin 

place and stood in the warmth of the glow- 
ing coals. The candles burn brightly on the 
mantelpiece. She looked into the mirror and 
her eyes met her reflected gaze. She saw 
only sadness, trouble, and anxiety. As she 
looked she felt the warm flood of tears rising 
to her eyes, and if she had buried her face 
in her hands they would have vanquished 
her. With a great effort she bravely con- 
quered the inclination, but was startled to 
see an expression of almost self-contempt 
sweep over her features for the weakness. 
She turned away from the mirror and sank 
wearily down upon a large chair by the fire- 
side, hoping that the warmth of the blazing 
fire might help to dispel the chill of despair 
that overshadowed her. 

The evening lengthened into night, and 
again the bells of Saint Sulpice chimed the 
hour. Summoning her maid she sought the 
solitude of her bed-chamber, and kneeling at 
her prie-dieu she raised her eyes to heaven, 
and an earnest, imploring prayer came from 
her tortured heart to her lips, “ Oh, my God ! 
my God, give me courage ! ” 

The morning came. At an early hour the 
293 


®uir&a 


widowed Countess was impelled by an irre- 
sistible inclination to visit the death-chamber. 
She felt that she must go, and go alone. 
Passing through the wide halls that led to the 
apartments of the Count, with trembling 
steps she walked into the outer room, where 
several attendants were assembled. They 
arose and bent their heads with profound re- 
spect. Servants in black livery stood on each 
side of the door of the death-chamber, and 
held back the portieres as the Countess ap- 
proached and entered the darkened room, 
which was lighted only by the tall candles at 
the head of the bier. The silence was op- 
pressive, and sudden faintness came over her ; 
she stopped — her head sank heavily upon her 
breast. Recovering herself with a great 
effort, she felt an intolerable sensation of 
suffocation, and a sharp pain stabbed her to 
the heart. After a moment’s hesitation she 
walked slowly up to the bier, upon which 
rested all that was mortal of her husband. 
She turned down the white satin pall and 
steadfastly gazed at the reposeful form — at 
the calm features of the pale, cold face, on 
which the smile still lingered ; at the folded 


Xe Commencement be la fin 

hands ; at the crucifix that lay on the cold 
breast like the final seal on the letter of life. 
The lids were closed over the eyes. The dark 
locks of waving hair rested upon the wide, 
white brow with startling naturalness ; all his 
features were wonderfully lifelike in their 
calm repose. With a low, moaning sob she 
fell upon her knees beside the bier. He was 
her husband, her lover — and what a lover he 
was — a Lelio, a Ruy Bias, a Romeo, all com- 
bined. 

There was no one to witness her sorrow, 
no one to criticise whatever she might do. 
She took the lifeless hand between her own 
and thought tenderly of his follies. His faults 
were far away now. He was all her own in 
his dead loneliness. In her grief and despair 
there was a thrill of jealous joy. He was 
once again all her own, as he had been on 
that bright October day when they first 
walked side by side as man and wife. She 
forgot all the subsequent heartaches, the neg- 
lect, deceit, and terrible wrongs, now that 
death had made his cruelties dim and distant 
— made his memory something which his life 
had never been. 


295 


®uir&a 


Oh, what he might have accomplished with 
his abilities and opportunities ! What he 
might have been ! How much good, how 
much kindness ! What blessings might have 
gone with him to his grave ! 

The Countess felt a great shock, but she 
could not feel that deep sorrow which one 
feels at a death. 

It was terrible that he should have died 
like this, without a single word of reconcilia- 
tion. She felt a great horror, which was more 
profound than her grief or sorrow. He had 
wearied so soon of her love ; her confidence 
had been ridiculed ; her pride trampled 
under foot; nothing had been of value to 
him but her gold. She knew and keenly 
felt this painful truth, and resolved to carry 
the knowledge of it closely shut in her heart 
as long as she lived. She had had a great 
love, a great joy, a great deception — and now 
this great calamity — each following close 
upon the other in the short space of a few 
months. She arose from her knees and again 
looked long and earnestly at the dead face ; 
then, with a deep sigh, she replaced the white 
pall, and walked slowly and sadly away. 

^96 


Xe Commencement &e la Jfin 

The Countess returned to her room, and 
in solitude and prayer sought to regain the 
tranquillity necessary for an interview with 
her guardian. 

Sitting down at the table she leaned her 
head upon her hand, and as the morning light 
shone in upon her pale features a physiogno- 
mist would have read there profound weari- 
ness and unbending resolution, but no vestige 
of bitterness. The large, thoughtful eyes 
were sad and dry, and gradually the expres- 
sion of pain passed from her countenance, 
and lifting up her head she took up her bur- 
den of life once more. 

To her guardian, to the household, to the 
officials, and others with whom she came in 
contact, she appeared unnaturally cold and 
silent, like a being stunned by the appalling 
events that had come with such terrible sud- 
denness. 

Her guardian remained at the house. He 
received the friends who called to express 
their sympathy, answered messages, and ten- 
derly shielded the Countess from everything 
that could distress and annoy her. 

The days that followed, until the one ap- 

297 


©lUrba 


pointed for the funeral, were to the weary 
woman like years in length. Finally the end 
came, and the remains of the Count de Sar- 
zeau lay in state in its costly casket, awaiting 
the hour when they should be taken to the 
railway station, and thence to Royallieu. The 
ceremonies at the house had been brief, as 
the last and imposing obsequies were to be 
held at Royallieu. 

It was a sad journey. What a contrast 
there was between this and the last home- 
coming of the Count and Countess ! When 
they arrived at the little village station they 
were met by a large and notable gathering, 
composed of the friends of the dead Count, 
who had assembled to show their regards for 
the last lord of Royallieu. 

Four black horses, with black velvet hous- 
ings, bordered with silver, were harnessed to 
the black-plumed hearse, with equerries in 
black livery walking at their heads. 

A long line of carriages followed in slow 
and stately measure up the avenue to the 
chateau. All along the road were groups of 
villagers and peasants, waiting with uncov- 
ered heads for the cortege to pass. Arriving 

298 


Xe Commencement be la iftn 

at the chateau a halt was made at the grand 
entrance, and the casket was borne into the 
lofty hall that had been the scene of many 
and varied ceremonies. After an hour’s re- 
pose refreshments were served to the funeral 
guests, and again the sad procession was 
formed. From the chateau they passed 
through the long avenue of yew trees that ex- 
tended to the ancient ivy-covered chapel, 
which adjoined the moss-grown mausoleum. 

The burial service was impressively solemn. 
The cure, in surplice and stole, chanting aloud 
the burial service and litany from the prayer- 
book in his hand ; before him a cross-bearer, 
carrying a large gilt cross that glittered in 
every ray of light ; behind him his assistants, 
with bent heads and rosaries trickling through 
their fingers, walked slowly along. The low- 
murmured words and the half-hushed tones 
of the organ finished as with a long sigh, and 
all was over. 

The sun shone mild and serene. The birds 
sang in the trees above the sombre figures of 
the mourners, as the casket was borne from 
the chapel to the marble mausoleum — 
gloomy, dark, and solemn — that had been the 

299 


©uirba 


ancestral sepulchre of the de Sarzeau family 
for centuries. Its subterranean vaults were 
now opened to receive the remains of the last 
of his race. Herein were knights lying in 
effigy on their tombs. Many shields and battle- 
lances hung on the Doric pillars, and tattered 
banners were drooping in the gloom. On the 
organ in the adjoining chapel the Benedic- 
tus of Gounod was played by masterly 
hands, and the sweet, spiritual melody floated 
softly through the vaulted aisles of the mau- 
soleum. At its close, a hush, like a silent 
prayer, came over all. It was finished ! The 
guests remained standing until the widowed 
Countess, with one last look, turned sadly 
away from the still, open vault, and, leaning 
upon the arm of her guardian, led the way 
back to the chateau. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


THE WAGES OF SIN 


** In all thy humors, whether grave or mellow, 

Thou’rt such a touchy, testy, pleasant fellow. 
Hast so much wit and mirth and spleen about thee. 
That there’s no living with thee, or without thee.” 


HERE were suffering and 
sorrow at the Hotel de 
Verville. The morning that 
followed the arrival of Gas- 
ton, the Marquise was 
summoned in great haste 
to the bed-chamber of her 
son. He had been taken 
very ill during the night, and had grown 
rapidly worse until he was in a raging fever, 
with alarming symptoms. The physician in 
attendance was reticent and could not give 
the anxious mother any comforting assur- 
ance, his only hope being that Gaston’s 
youth and robust constitution might enable 
him successfully to battle with this serious 
illness. 



301 


©u(r&a 


The excitement of the past few days — the 
duel, the arrest, the suffering caused by his 
wounded arm, and the greatest effort of all, 
striving to spare his mother all possible 
anxiety and sorrow, by suppressing his own 
emotions — had been more than he could en- 
dure. The reaction came, and a high fever 
ensued. He became delirious, and in his 
ravings he lived over again the varied scenes 
of his life. His mind wandered back to his 
boyhood, and he talked of his little difficulties 
at school. Then he whispered his love for 
Ouirda, and told how gladly he had sacrificed 
his own feelings when he became aware of 
the fact that Ouirda’s happiness depended 
upon her love for the Count de Sarzeau. 
Then he would dwell upon the insulting in- 
terview with the Count at the club. The 
challenge, the meeting — all the wretched 
events passed and repassed through his 
brain — and his ravings were pathetic and 
heartrending. Through it all he would beg 
them not to distress his mother — to tell her 
that he was not hurt. 

General de Kiersabec did not return home 
as he intended to, but remained at the house, 

302 


Zhc Mage0 of Sin 

thereby relieving the Marquise of much care 
and responsibility. Yet the suspense was 
terrible, and she was almost prostrated with 
grief. After many days of intense anxiety a 
favorable change appeared, which gave them 
hope of the patient’s ultimate recovery. 

At the commencement of Gaston’s illness 
the mother consulted with General de Kier- 
sabec as to the advisability of sending for 
her daughter and her husband to return 
home at once, but a great difficulty presented 
itself. A telegram could not reach them 
directly, as their whereabouts was so uncer- 
tain. They were now in all probability on 
the other side of the world. Since their de- 
parture the Marquise had received news 
from them only at irregular intervals, and 
her letters in reply had to take their chances 
of reaching them on their route. The last 
news from them stated that they were well 
and happy, and did not intend to return to 
France until the following spring. It was 
finally decided that it would be useless to 
try to reach them. 

The General was something of an opti- 
mist, and told the Marquise repeatedly that he 
303 


®utrt)a 


was sure the boy would recover and be him- 
self soon, and that he proposed to remain 
until he was well, and then take him home 
with him to “La Barraque,’' where, in the 
shadow of Les Voges mountains, he would 
speedily regain his health. 

Many anxious days passed before the 
young Marquis was pronounced out of dan- 
ger. He was very weak, but his convales- 
cence was rapid. 

The Marquise had not been able to devote 
any of her time to her bereaved friend, the 
Countess, and she regretted exceedingly 
that she was not able to attend the funeral. 
But the serious illness of her son was a 
sufficient excuse. She was fully aware that 
her absence would be observed, and at- 
tributed to wrong motives. However, she 
was indifferent to the opinion of the world, 
knowing that the Countess fully understood 
the situation. 

Captain Ronsard called constantly to see 
his friend Gaston, and he and the General 
had some very animated conversations. The 
old soldier was still angry over the duel, and, 
as Captain Ronsard acted as second to Gas- 
304 


Z\)c TKIlage^ of Sin 

ton in the affair, he felt that the Captain was, 
in a way, responsible for the duel and its 
results. He gave expression to his feelings 
on the subject whenever a favorable occasion 
presented itself. 

One day during one of the discussions the 
General remarked : 

“ I know that custom and public opinion 
sanction, or, at least, tolerate that relic of 
barbarism, which is a blot upon Christian 
civilization ; but I consider it a crime.” 

“ I am a little surprised. General, to hear 
you say this, for the army has always favored 
duelling, I believe.” 

‘‘That may be so. I am an old soldier, 
but I never fought a duel. I believe in legiti- 
mate fighting, not in committing murder. 
Your duelling is a heinous crime, which I 
abhor and detest. I believe in calling things 
by their right names. Stripped of the glaz- 
ing of conventionalism, I say it is murder !” 

“ Oh, no ! Don’t call it murder ! That is a 
dreadful word. General. You know duelling 
is termed ‘honorable satisfaction,’ and we 
have no other way of wiping out a deadly 
insult. If there could be some honorable 
30s 


20 


©uirba 


course adopted by which a man could defend 
his honor without being considered a coward 
I would be as pleased as you are to condemn 
duelling.” 

“ There is no other appropriate name for 
it, Captain. It is wilful murder, that stabs the 
happiness of families, and for which it would 
seem that even the infinite mercy of Almighty 
God could scarcely accord forgiveness.” 

“You are very severe, my dear General, 
and yet there is much truth in what you say. 
But until something else is substituted we 
will have to keep the duel, I fear.” 

“ I shall take good care that this rash boy, 
Gaston, does not get into any more such 
honorable-satisfaction murder-scrapes.” 

“All right. General. However, I do not 
think he will be liable to have a similar cause 
again. He has a serious character, and is 
not much given to frivolities, which usually 
lead to such results.” 

“I think you are speaking the truth. Cap- 
tain. I have never heard of his being mixed 
up with intrigues or indulging in flirtations 
with women, have you? Now, be honest 
and tell me.” 


306 


Z\)c XPClagce of Sin 

“That is a leading question, General. 
You know Gaston and I have been chums 
for many years ; we were at college to- 
gether, and have seen much of each other 
ever since. However, I donT mind answer- 
ing your question, even if I incriminate my- 
self. Of course, there have been occasions 
when we have amused ourselves by flirting 
with women who were weak enough to allow 
themselves to be trifled with. You know 
that all young men indulge in this sort of 
diversion, and are never censured by society, 
much less denounced as criminals. The 
world sanctions these two crimes, flirting and 
duelling, although flirting is against the strict 
morals of society, and duelling is against the 
laws of the country ; but custom justifies 
them both.” 

“ That is an argument. Captain, and a 
good one. I shall not make any further 
attempts to convert the world to my way 
of thinking, as it would be a mere waste 
of time. Have another cigar. Captain. We 
share the same opinion with regard to 
tobacco, even if we do disagree upon other 
subjects.’^ 


307 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


REVELATIONS 

** True friends are like diamonds, 

Precious and rare j 
False ones like autumn leaves. 

Found everywhere.” 

[ERE are women whose first 
impulse in trouble is to rise 
up and be equal to what- 
ever may come, just as 
there are women who have 
no other capacity than to 
sit down under it and weep. 
The Countess belonged to 
the former. Hers was a clear-sighted nature, 
quick to plan and resolute in action. She 
had resolved to face all difficulties, and to sur- 
mount them — to take a noble part and play 
it triumphantly to the end. The experiences 
through which she had passed had developed 
her suddenly. The world pitied her as one 
who had lost an earthly paradise, and not 
one of its dupes read aright this serious-eyed 
308 



IRevelatione 


woman, who saw beneath the masks and 
could not feed on illusions. 

The tedious work of settling up the affairs 
of a great estate began, with all its weari- 
some formalities. Her guardian, the execu- 
tors, and solicitors felt an undefined awe of 
the widowed Countess. Her reserve and 
silence were to them unnatural. She was 
always at the command of these men of busi- 
ness, was courteous, but very indifferent. 

At her guardian’s request, the seals that 
had been placed on all the belongings of the 
dead Count by the officials were broken in 
her presence by those who were to examine 
the documents pertaining to his business af- 
fairs, and otherwise. They found little to 
his credit and much to his dishonor. 

It was the Countess’ wish that the execu- 
tors should screen from publicity everything 
that was objectionable, and faithfully they 
observed her request. Thus it was shortly 
afterward that several members of the beau- 
monde of both sexes were infinitely relieved 
in their minds by receiving various letters 
which they had written to the Count of a 
compromising character, while others were 
309 


©uirba 


humiliated by having their obligations re- 
turned to them cancelled. 

The Countess could not comprehend the 
full meaning of many of the papers that 
were submitted to her, but she understood 
enough to make her heart sick with shame 
and mortification, to know that her fortune 
had been schemed for systematically, and 
that many of her so-called friends had been 
interested in a financial way by their assist- 
ance in promoting her marriage with the 
Count. She could now see it all, and she 
realized to the utmost the vileness of these 
transactions, by the written evidence found 
among the documents and papers in the 
Count’s private desk. 

He had lived his life, but had never taken 
death into account, or he surely would have 
destroyed many of these witnesses that 
made such undeniable accusations against 
him and his honor. Her fortune had been 
her greatest attraction. Here were all the 
proofs of the subtle machinery by which the 
desired result had been accomplished. These 
were the brutal facts. 

She could now understand many things 

310 


IRevelattone 


that had occurred in the past, and that, at 
the time, had appeared strange and unreal. 

The dear old Marquise de Verville had 
been the one friend among them all ; she 
had been true and sincere. Among the let- 
ters and papers Ouirda was obliged to read, 
nothing that would compromise her had been 
found. There was only one letter written 
by her to the Count on the eve of their mar- 
riage — a good, motherly letter — reminding 
him that they were both orphans, and conse- 
quently should be everything to each other ; 
that he had won a great prize, and beseeched 
him to treasure his young wife's precious 
love as God’s choicest blessing. 

There was also a letter of congratulation 
from the Marquis de Verville, sent to the 
Count when their engagement was an- 
nounced. In the letter Gaston frankly told 
the Count of his early, boyish love for Miss 
Winston, of his proposal, and of his refusal — 
that she had expressed a wish to be consid- 
ered the same to him as his sister Jeanne. 
He assured the Count of his best wishes for 
their future happiness, and hoped he would 
regard him as a friend and brother. 

3 ” 


©uir&a 


These two letters affected the Countess to 
such an extent that she felt herself unable to 
attend to anything more, and begged to be 
excused until the next day. She retired to 
her rooms, taking the two letters with her for 
preservation. 

The Count’s death proved a source of ap- 
prehension to various creditors, who up to 
this time had been looking forward with tran- 
quillity to the payment in full of their claims ; 
now, their bills came in a deluge. 

When the Countess was made aware of 
the extent and nature of these claims, with 
that marvellous power of self-command 
which the vicissitudes of the past two weeks 
had taught her, she said to her guardian and 
lawyers, ‘Tt is my earnest wish that these 
debts be settled with the least possible delay, 
and without questioning their justice.” 

When the enormity of the amount of the 
claims was ascertained, and the cool-headed 
men of business realized that a large portion 
of the Countess’ fortune would have to be 
sacrificed, they again requested her to con- 
sult with them as to the most desirable way 
of adjusting these debts in a reasonable 

312 


IRevelatione 


manner, and listen to their suggestions 
regarding them. 

In accordance with their wishes, she seated 
herself in the library every day during their 
consultations, and listened to their plans for 
the adjustment of the debts and obligations. 

It was deeply humiliating to the Countess 
to learn that she had been the willing dupe 
of a designing, unscrupulous man. 

Even her favorite flowers that the Count 
had sent daily, and which she had treas- 
ured so highly — here was the long account 
of the florist ! And the flowers charged on 
this bill had not all been sent to her ! There 
were large accounts of more recent date of 
flowers and plants that had been sent to 
others — to Madame Paltovitch, and numer- 
ous floral offerings to popular actresses of 
different theatres. 

It was hard for the Countess to bear these 
revelations unmoved. Conscience lifted its 
hands in horror at the man’s duplicity ; but 
this was succeeded by a still louder clamor 
raised by womanly pride, which bled at the 
thought of how little her great love had been 
valued. How her tortured heart suffered in 
313 


©utrba 


silence, and how piteously it pleaded for 
solace and comfort, which she feared would 
never come to her again. When she was 
alone her grief was pitiful, but it was a grief 
too deep for tears to drown. 

Sometimes she would forget present an- 
noyances, and only think of her loss ; but 
this heartrending conflict was hard to bear. 
So far her pride had sustained her. She had 
a horror of the world’s pity. Could this be 
the end for her ? No ! If a stone be dropped 
into the waters of life the widening circles 
change the whole surface, until even the dis- 
tant shores are touched. 

The weary routine of the settlement of the 
Count’s affairs was ended at last, and the 
Countess experienced a profound relief when 
she knew that there would be no more con- 
sultations where her presence was required. 

Her own finances were now to be arranged 
for her future maintenance. Her lawyers 
were amazed that she did not regret the large 
amount that had been used to liquidate the 
debts of her late husband. When all was 
finished and she was told of her diminished 
income, she simply said, “It is enough.” 

314 


1Revelation0 


Her guardian anxiously watched the health 
of his ward. She grew paler and quieter as 
the days passed, but she was not ill ; and to 
all appearances she was not suffering. He 
talked with her of her reduced fortune, and 
counselled her to seek a change of scene. 

“ Go away somewhere, Ouirda, where you 
will not be constantly reminded of the past. 
You are still young, and your life must not 
be forever shadowed by this tragedy.’' 

“ I have long since decided upon leaving 
France, Doctor, and perhaps forever.” 

‘‘ I hope you will return to us some time. 
You will still have a comfortable income, 
and can live as you please, although you 
will not be considered a rich woman. Go 
away and try to find distraction in travel- 
ling ; a change of scene is sure to be bene- 
ficial to you.” 

“ My dear guardian, I appreciate your 
kind consideration for my future. I will con- 
fide to you what I have resolved to do, and I 
must have your aid to accomplish it.” 

“ Command me, my dear Ouirda. I am 
only too happy to assist you in every way in 
my power.” 


©uirba 


“ As I said before, I have decided to go 
away ; but there are some things I wish to 
have done before leaving France. I wish you 
to seek out those people whose names we 
found among my husband’s papers who have 
not presented their claims, and to whom I 
feel confident he was in some manner in- 
debted. Find them, ascertain the truth, and 
pay them what is right. I feel that they are 
the more deserving, because they have not 
intruded their claims upon me.” 

“My dear Countess, surely you would not 
do this ! There has been a fortune expended 
already, and you have paid all that was re- 
quired of you, and more than was right in 
many instances. Why should you feel the 
need of doing still more?” 

“ Because I do not wish a shadow of blame 
to rest upon my husband’s memory, no mat- 
ter what his faults may have been.” 

“ I have said I would aid you, but I did 
not imagine it would be in any more of this 
wretched business.” 

“ Please do not speak in that manner. 
Doctor. I have thought it all over, and I am 
resolved upon this plan. I also wish you to 
316 


IRevcIattona 


arrange to pay a sum of money to the Con- 
vent of the Sacred Heart. This has always 
been my intention, and I have neglected it 
altogether too long. You know it was the 
only home I had for many years.’' 

The Doctor listened to these philanthropic 
propositions in silence. The Countess arose 
and placed her hand upon his arm, raised her 
sad eyes to his face, and said, quietly : 

“You will do this for me. It is for my 
tranquillity and peace of mind that I ask it.” 

“ I have promised you, my dear child, and 
I will do the best I can to carry out your 
wishes. I will come and see you again in a 
few days, when I hope to have something to 
submit to you for your Inspection. In the 
meantime, I beg of you to take all the rest 
you can.” 

“ I shall certainly try to do so. Good-by, 
my dear, my best friend. I was sure that 
you would help me.” 

The Doctor took his departure, wondering 
if the end of her difficulties would ever 
come. 


317 


CHAPTER XXV. 


THE DARK POOL OF THE FUTURE 

" As slowly our ship her foamy track 
Against the wind was cleaving, 

Her trembling pennant still look’d back 
To that dear shore ’twas leaving.” 


HE Countess had decided 
upon leaving France, per- 
haps never to return. 

She would go to America, 
the land of her birth, and 
there, among the few re- 
maining members of her 
family, she would try to 
forget the bitter memories of her married 
life. She remained closely at home, in strict 
seclusion, receiving none of her friends or 
callers. 

Friends ! How few of them were true and 
sincere. How weary she was of all that once 
had charmed her in the gay world of society. 
The veil that concealed its deceit and perfidy 
had been thrust aside, and she saw what a hol- 
318 



tTbc Darft pool of tbe future 

low mockery it was. Solitude was far prefer- 
able to such falseness. She passed hours and 
days communing with her thoughts ; they 
were her sole companions. Over and over 
again she thought of every detail. She could 
form no plans for the future that were to her 
entirely satisfactory, and the present was 
gloomy beyond description. 

On the horizon of her life there shone a 
waving, ever-diminishing gleam of brightness 
that she knew to be the hazy reflection of her 
by-gone days and sweet memories. At inter- 
vals there would come a brief respite from 
her present misery, and she would close her 
eyes and send her thoughts backward to her 
early days. As one event followed another, 
she would count the points of sunshine through 
the gloom that now encompassed her soul. 
They were so brilliant, but so brief, like stray 
flashes of lightning that cross the skies on a 
hot summer evening. Then she would rouse 
herself and try to forget, for remembrances 
would only bring their own bitterness. She 
must not think. She must forget, and con- 
tinue to play her part bravely to the end. 
Sometimes she would wish she had no con- 


3^9 


®u(r^a 

science, or, better still, that she had no 
memory. 

The Marquise de Verville was the only one 
of her former friends and acquaintances whom 
she received. The Marquis Gaston was now 
convalescing rapidly, and, when the devoted 
mother felt that she could leave him for a 
short time, her first call was upon the Count- 
ess. She was welcomed with pleasure not 
unmixed with sadness. They talked long and 
earnestly of all that had transpired. To the 
Countess it was a blessed relief to have one 
lady friend in whom she could confide and 
who could give her sincere sympathy. She 
told her all her troubles, only concealing what 
was sacred to the memory of her dead hus- 
band. His faults and shortcomings should 
all lie buried with him in his tomb, and should 
not be dragged before an unfeeling world for 
discussion. In this regard she was resolved 
and decided. 

When the Marquise told her the particu- 
lars of the severe and dangerous illness her 
son had passed through the Countess was 
deeply grieved, and it was a relief to know 
that he was sufficiently recovered to be able 

320 


tTbe 2>arli ipool of tbe ifuturc 

to go the following week to the country with 
General de Kiersabec, where she sincerely 
hoped he would speedily regain his health and 
strength. She sent a kind, sisterly message 
to him by his mother, conveying her hopes 
for his recovery and kind wishes for his future 
happiness. She also wrote a long letter to 
her dear friend Jeanne, requesting the Mar- 
quise to enclose it in one of her letters, which 
she would send to her absent daughter, and 
to tell Jeanne whatever else she deemed best 
and wise, as she had only written generalities 
in her own letter. She knew that she would 
be far from France when Jeanne and her hus- 
band returned from their tour of the world, 
and this letter was her farewell to her school- 
mate. 

After waiting several days Doctor Camp- 
bell came and brought with him papers and 
statements for the Countess’ inspection and 
sanction. He told her he had succeeded in 
accomplishing her wishes, and with much less 
difficulty than he had anticipated. The Count- 
ess declined to look over the documents. 
She was very weary of written statements, 
and it was quite sufficient for her to know 
321 


21 


®uir&a 

that he was satisfied with what he had 
done. 

The Doctor was not sorry that she had so 
decided, for there was much that would have 
been unpleasant for her to know. 

The Mother Superior of the Convent of 
the Sacred Heart wrote her a kind letter 
of thanks, and assured her that she would 
never be forgotten in her prayers — that peace 
and consolation should come and abide with 
her. 

The Countess realized that soon the old 
life and the old days would be gone forever. 
There was a great loss and an immense void 
in her life that the future could never fill. 

One day there came to her a longing to 
visit every room in her grand old home. She 
wandered through the long succession of 
halls, galleries, corridors, and suites of rooms. 
The places were all familiar to her, and to- 
gether formed a palace fit for a queen. 

She entered the grand drawing-room in 
the western wing, where the last glow of the 
sunset was lighting up with crimson reflec- 
tions all the beauty and luxury of the apart- 
ment. Slowly she walked to one of the 


322 


Z\)c Barft pool of tbe jfuture 

windows and drew back the heavy silken 
curtains, then sank down upon a chair and 
watched the light fade out of the glowing sky. 
The hours passed on. Twilight changed into 
the stillness of the starlight night. She 
looked out into the shadows of the garden 
and listened to the peaceful speakings of the 
fountains that came to her like a soft caress. 
There was not the faintest gleam of light 
anywhere, nor a sound of moving life — only 
the brightness of the stars and the dark out- 
lines of the tall trees and stately roofs, cutting 
against the steel-blue sky. 

This was her farewell to the old life. Never 
again would she wander through those spa- 
cious rooms that had witnessed her bright 
but brief career as one of the most brilliant 
stars among the nobility of the Faubourg 
Saint Germain. 

There now remained only the final prepa- 
rations for her departure. These were soon 
completed, and the Countess and her maid 
were ready to bid a long farewell to Paris and 
France. Her guardian wished to take the 
journey with her. She thanked him kindly, 
but declined the offer. She was now seule 


323 


©uirba 


au monde, and it would be better for her to 
go away alone. Thus it was that the Mar- 
quise de Verville and Doctor Campbell were 
the only ones to accompany her to the rail- 
way station. Bidding them a sad good-by, 
she leaves them to go far away alone. 

The short journey from Paris to Havre is 
soon over. The great ocean-liner is waiting 
for the passengers of this train. The dock 
begins to fill up with the people. Quantities of 
baggage of every conceivable description are 
hurried on board the steamer. Special mes- 
sengers laden down with elaborate and ex- 
pensive offerings of flowers and fruit, gifts 
of friends who remain at home to those who 
are going on the steamer. All these make 
attractive spots of color on the ever-varying 
scene. 

The people themselves are a study. There 
is the usual pretentious passenger, giving 
unlimited orders — the ostentatious celebrity 
who wishes all to know that he is going to 
“ the States.*’ The swaggering young man 
who talks loudly to the stewards. The ordi- 
nary type of the nouveau riche woman and 
her homely, overdressed daughters, who have 
324 


Z\)c IDaiti pool of tbe ifuture 

been spending their first season on the Conti- 
nent, and calling attention to themselves by 
their lavish display of money and their loud, 
sharp voices. 

In the cabins, women of the quieter sort, 
and those of uncertain age, as well as those 
about whose age there is no uncertainty, are 
clustered in forlorn groups. 

Maids struggled with unruly children. 
Steamer-rugs and hand-bags were every- 
where. On deck the side-rail is crowded by 
a smiling throng of men and women who 
are making useless and unsuccessful attempts 
at talking with friends on shore. There is 
such a babel of voices and such a confusion 
of sounds that no one can be heard. 

Further aft the second-cabin passengers 
are bidding farewell to their friends, and in 
the demonstrative. Continental custom, the 
women are weeping and the men are em- 
bracing each other. Many of these passen- 
gers are going to a new world to seek their 
fortune, and they feel that this may be a 
final adieu. 

The last bell rings, and the great steamer 
glides slowly away from the throng of people 
325 


©uirba 


on the dock, who are waving handkerchiefs 
and shouting the last good-by and bon voyage 
to their departing friends. 

For many days, now, there will be nothing 
but pure, fresh, bracing air, a limitless horizon, 
and the deep, blue sea. 

The Countess feels a relief that she has 
left Paris and France — Paris, the town of 
Clovis, of Clotilde, of Genevieve ; the town 
of Charlemagne, of Saint Louis, of Philip 
Augustus, and of Henry IV ; the capital of 
science, of art, and of civilization. 

Day after day she rests quietly in her 
steamer-chair in some secluded spot on the 
promenade deck. She does not read her 
open book — her sad eyes are looking out on 
the sea, far beyond the blue waves that sur- 
round her. She takes little note of what is 
passing. Occasionally someone of the pas- 
sengers, more obtrusive than polite, feels 
that it is a duty to try to entertain or amuse 
la belle veuve, as they call her, and who 
rarely speaks to anyone except to her 
maid. 

One day a jolly, effusive woman seated 
herself near the Countess and endeavored 

326 



She does not read her open book — her sad 
eyes are looking out on the sea. 



’t‘W * J 

1 1 » ** 

IS 




^Lbe Barb ipool of tbe jfuture 

to converse with her. She began by telling 
her impressions of Paris and the French 
people. 

“ My favorite amusement was to walk 
about the streets and listen to the bands of 
music. Did you ever observe that a band is 
always playing somewhere? I do enjoy a 
good band of music so much, don’t you ? I 
was in Paris only twenty days before I was 
called home. I was not one bit tired of 
sight-seeing; my greatest drawback to en- 
joyment was my incapacity to understand 
and be understood. I thought I was a pretty 
fair French scholar, but the people would 
talk so fast, I found it rather puzzling. Have 
you got acquainted with many people gn 
board? I have talked to nearly all of the 
four hundred passengers, and have compared 
notes with many of them. I find I have 
missed seeing many grand things, and I wish 
now I had not run about after the bands of 
music so much. However, I intend to go 
again to Paris, and the next time I shall see 
something. Did you observe that party of 
seven over there to the left ? I have watched 
them every day. No one would take them 
327 


®uirt)a 


for people of any importance. Evidently 
the stewards do not think they have money 
for large fees, for they keep away from them. 
I am told that the stewards on an ocean 
steamer are usually a class of people very 
wise in their way. Whether they judge pas- 
sengers from the amount of their luggage, 
or what, I do not know ; but I have observed 
that they never offer service or consideration 
unless they expect to receive solid compen- 
sation. I have made up my mind that those 
seven people are of some account, although 
they do not talk to anyone. I tried to get 
up a conversation with them on several oc- 
casions ; they listen to me when I talk, then 
bow, and say nothing, just as you do ; so I 
know they are not displeased.’' 

Seven days after leaving Havre the great 
ship came slowly and majestically up New 
York harbor. The usual eager and expect- 
ant crowds of passengers were on deck. 
The ship was well alongside her dock before 
the black-robed woman roused herself. Then, 
as the steward and her maid gathered together 
her belongings, she went into the cabin to 
await the arrival of her elder sister, who was 

328 


Zl)c Darft pool of tbc future 

to meet her, and whom she had not seen 
since her childhood. 

The moment soon came, and she was en- 
folded in a warm, sisterly embrace. As the 
loving words of welcome fell on her ears, 
she felt for the first time in many weary 
weeks that she was no longer alone. 

* ❖ ❖ 

Months have passed since her arrival in 
America, and time has brought consolation 
and comfort to the widowed Countess. She 
has been surrounded by loving friends, and 
free from all disturbing influences, so that her 
spirits have gradually recovered their former 
condition ; and now, at this bright Christmas 
time, if not quite happy, she is cheerful and 
at peace — at peace with all the world and 
herself. 

The dusk of Christmas eve is approaching 
over the city roofs and spires. Christmas 
eve ! And over the earth is that strange, 
mystical hush that always seems to fall on 
this one night of the year. 

Ouirda is sitting alone. Her thoughts go 
back to the old life in France, where her 


329 


®uirt)a 


soul was stunned and every hope had van- 
ished ; where she had drunk so deep of the 
waters of affliction as to be almost on the 
border of despair. Now, peace had come 
to her. Her feet had dropped into the prim- 
rose way, and she felt at last, poor, tired soul, 
that she could lift her head to heaven with 
the firm assurance that she could walk without 
fear of falling upon the earth. 

Merry Christmas ! Ah, happy the heart 
whose grief has never felt the sting of mock- 
ery in those words of peace and good-will ! 
Whose leaden heaviness has never been be- 
yond the reach of Christmas smiles and 
cheer. Happy the eyes that have never 
been too thickly blinded by tears to catch a 
gleam of earth’s brightness, or even of that 
brightness, not of earth, which streamed 
from the manger of Bethlehem. Thrice 
happy the soul for whom no bitter trouble or 
dust-stained care has ever darkened this 
most fair and glorious feast of the Christian 
year! Trouble seems twice trouble, grief 
more than grief, when every voice — human 
and divine — bids us lift our heavy lids and 
rejoice. 


330 


Z\)c pool of tbe ifuture 

Slowly, sweetly, through the clear, frosty 
air comes the peal of Christmas bells. They 
bring pictures of the past to her memory. 
She sees again the white moonlight shining 
on the tall church-spires of the great city of 
Paris — on little village hamlets, with their 
rustic churches, on quiet homesteads — and 
over all broods the happy mystery of Christ- 
mas. What poetry they hold — these Christ- 
mas bells. What sorrow, what pain, what 
pathetic happiness. 

So engrossed in thought is Ouirda that 
she did not hear approaching footsteps. 
Raising her eyes, she started. 

“Gaston !” she cried. 

The Marquis de Verville was standing in 
the doorway. Only a short distance separated 
them, but neither moved. Something in 
Ouirda’s expression encouraged him, and 
Gaston held out his arms. Ouirda paused, 
with her hands locked over her heart, and 
swaying slightly, as if about to faint, burst 
into tears. 

The next moment strong arms were 
around her, and her head rested on the 
shoulder of her lover. 


33 * 


®uirt>a 


“ Hush, dear,” he said, tenderly. “ Listen ! 
Those Christmas bells, those Christmas bells 

how beautiful ! They will obliterate all 

sorrow — all pain. They only sing — 


*' * Peace on earth, good-will toward men.’ 


THE END 


332 


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